My father leaned back.
“Ms. Donnelly, do you have documentation?”
“We do, Your Honor.”
“Submit it.”
Bennett objected.
My father overruled him.
Claire handed the clerk another folder.
Slim.
Blue tab.
I had labeled it myself at my kitchen island two nights before, while Marcus slept in a hotel suite downtown with Savannah and my daughter kicked so hard against my ribs I whispered, “I know, sweetheart. I’m mad too.”
