She shifted closer to my husband, tucking herself beneath his arm as if the courtroom were a charity gala and not a place where perjury wore cufflinks.
Judge Whitmore looked down at his notes.
“Mrs. Vale,” he said, “do you require immediate medical attention?”
Every eye turned toward me.
Marcus gave a tiny shake of his head.
A warning.
Savannah watched my stomach.
Waiting for panic.
Waiting for blood.
Waiting for anything she could turn into theater.
I placed one palm beneath my belly and breathed once through my nose.
Then I lifted my chin.
“I will be examined after this hearing, Your Honor.”
My father’s eyes moved over my face.
Not like a judge.
Like a dad checking every bruise without being allowed to touch one.
“Are you able to proceed?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
A pause.
Then he said, “Very well.”
Savannah scoffed.
It was almost nothing.
A little puff of air.
