But this was different.
This was inside my home.
Inside a locked penthouse.
Past security.
Past cameras.
Past the nursery door only three people had keys to.
I turned the phone toward Claire.
Her face changed.
My father saw it from the bench.
“Ms. Donnelly?”
Claire looked at me.
I nodded once.
She rose slowly.
“Your Honor, my client has just received a threat.”
Marcus frowned.
“What threat?”
Savannah’s smile vanished too quickly.
Judge Whitmore extended his hand.
“Bring it here.”
Claire carried my phone to the bench.
My father looked at the screen.
For one second, the judge disappeared.
Only one.
But I saw him.
I saw Robert Whitmore, the man who braided my hair badly before kindergarten because my mother was working early.
I saw the father who kept every crayon drawing I ever made in a box under his bed.
I saw the widower who walked me down the aisle to Marcus Vale and whispered, “You can always come home,” even while I whispered back, “Dad, don’t start.”
