Mr. Carroway held up the photograph, I thought about the pawn shop. About Walt Harmon tying a little tag to my grandmother’s locket. About Nolan gasping on his birthday morning.
EzoicI’d given up the last piece of my family’s history to make my son happy. And Grant had found a way to use even that against me.
I looked across the courtroom at Grant.
I don’t know what I was hoping for. Some small sign of guilt. A flicker of shame. Something human.
He was leaning back in his chair
with one arm over the back of it. He was smiling.
EzoicJudge Halloway studied the photograph for a long moment. Then she looked at me.
“Mrs. Bellamy,” she said. “You’re representing yourself today?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Would you like to respond to this exhibit?”
I stood up. My legs were shaking.
“Your Honor,” I said. “That’s his favorite shirt. I bought it for his birthday. I washed it four times this week. The stains won’t come out.”
My voice cracked. I tried to steady it.
“He wears it because he
