A man who drove four hours to bring my father his favorite soup during chemotherapy.
A man who once sat on our kitchen floor with me until dawn because I couldn’t stop crying after Dad died.
The first shove came eighteen months later.
By then, those earlier memories had become evidence too.
Evidence for the defense.
See?
He loves me.
See?
This isn’t who he is.
See?
I know him.
I touched the clear bag.
My finger stopped above the ring.
The door opened.
I pulled my hand away.
Liam came in slowly.
Something in his face had changed.
“What happened?”
He shut the door.
“Halden answered.”
“At this hour?”
“They have an after-hours line.”
“I know. Who did you speak to?”
“A man named Aaron Bell.”
My confusion must have shown.
“I don’t know him.”
“He said he’s Halden’s managing director.”
“Claire handles my case.”
