The days passed in a blur of gray mornings and restless nights, the city outside the courthouse indifferent to the storm that raged in Mara’s chest. The courtroom had beco a second skin, four pale walls, the heavy scent of varnished wood, the quiet shuffling of papers, and the low hum of tension so thick it made the air hard to swallow.
Mara sat at the plaintiff’s side, a storm cloud in human form, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Beside her, her brothers sat like her armor: Steve, stone-faced and unreadable; Stanley and Stanford, quiet but watchful; even Stefan, for once, had traded his bravado for a somber stillness. Every one of them was here because this wasn’t just about her. This was Justice. Ethan, Velerie, and Vera were also in court.
Across the room sat Lucy, her blonde hair twisted into a tidy braid, a tissue crumpled in her trembling hand. Her lawyer had been dismissed. She’d insisted on defending herself again, like the last ti a bold move or a desperate one, no one could quite decide. But when she rose to speak, there was a tremor in her voice that made the gallery lean in.
"All the accusations against ," Lucy began, her voice cracking on the first word, "they’re built on lies. Half-truths, twisted facts. I didn’t... I didn’t know whose child it was. I was told it was mine. Now I’m being told my baby had died."
Her gaze flicked to Mara, eyes glassy and red-rimd. "I was pregnant. I... I thought I gave birth to my child. And if soone swapped those babies... if Philip —" she faltered, a sob catching in her throat, "if he gave Mara’s child while my own was taken from ... then I’m as much a victim as anyone else."
A murmur swept through the courtroom like a gust of wind rattling old windows. The judge banged the gavel once for order, but Mara barely noticed.
Lucy turned fully toward her now, not bothering to wipe her tears. "Mara," she said, the na soft as silk but sharp as a dagger, "I loved Andrew. I still do. You have no idea what it felt like.... Thinking my baby was gone, and now being told maybe, just maybe, my Andrew wasn’t mine. That he was yours."
Her voice broke, and for a mont, the courtroom was silent save for the faint ticking of the old clock above the judge’s bench. "You know what it feels like to lose a child. Imagine it, Mara. Feel it."
And Mara did. The mories rose unbidden, the tiny fingers, the lullabies humd into the night, the mont they told her Andrew was gone. Her heart howled for vengeance, her hands itched to strike, to scream, to shred Lucy’s lies to ribbons before the court.
But she couldn’t.
Because that was Lucy’s trap. The perfect snare. A victim’s tearful plea and a mother’s rage would make Mara look unhinged, unstable, and dangerous. The headlines would write themselves before the verdict even landed.
If you yell now, you lose, a voice inside her warned.
So Mara breathed. She swallowed her fury, let it settle like embers in her chest, glowing hot but silent. Her jaw clenched, her fingernails dug half-moons into her palms, but she did not speak.
Lucy’s gaze lingered on her for a mont longer, searching for a reaction, for a spark to fan into flas. When none ca, she looked away, her shoulders trembling.
The judge cleared his throat, breaking the spell. "We’ll adjourn for recess. Court resus in one hour."
The gavel ca down like a heartbeat. Mara rose, feeling the weight of every eye in the room, but she walked out with her head high, her anger sharp, controlled, and waiting.
Not this ti.
The corridor outside the courtroom was dimly lit, the ancient bulbs overhead flickering like dying stars. The walls seed to press in, thick with old paint and older secrets. Reporters hovered at the far end, vultures waiting for a carcass to fall. Mara walked like a storm contained in human skin, each step purposeful, her hands trembling at her sides.
"Hey," a voice called low, cutting through the hush. Steve.
He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, the sa unreadable look on his face he wore at every funeral, every betrayal, every ti the world tilted sideways. His suit jacket hung open, his tie loose, like even formalwear couldn’t ta him.
He didn’t ask if she was okay. Steve never did.
Instead, he stepped forward and took her by the arm, steering her into the shadowed alcove near the old payphone no one used anymore. Out of sight. Out of reach.
"Listen to , Sis," he said, his voice soft but coiled tight. "I know what you want to do. I saw it in your face in there."
Mara’s jaw clenched. "I should’ve—"
"No." His grip tightened, just for a second. "Not here. Not like this. That’s exactly what she wants. You lose control, you hand her the win."
"I don’t care about winning," she spat, the words acid on her tongue. "She stole my baby. She’s standing there acting like so goddamn martyr, and everyone’s eating it up. I should’ve—"
"You want justice," Steve interrupted, low and lethal. "Because it’s not just about you anymore. It’s about Andrew. About all of us. About what happens when this is over."
He let go of her arm, but his gaze didn’t soften. "You can break her, Stef. But you do it smart. You wait. You let her dig her own grave one lie at a ti. And then you bury her so deep no one rembers her na."
A long, taut silence settled between them.
Mara’s throat ached with all the things she couldn’t say, the grief, the pain, and the fury. But she nodded.
Steve exhaled, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "There’s my girl."
Footsteps echoed down the hall, one of the court officers calling for everyone to reconvene. Steve glanced toward the courtroom doors.
"Co on," he said, clapping a hand to her shoulder. "Ti to watch her burn." She saw Ethan on the phone, he didn’t get to say hello because this wasn’t only about Mara, it was about his son, grandfather, and mother. Lucy can’t get away this
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