My stomach twisted, not only from pregnancy but from the familiar humiliation of seeing them together without pretense. Caleb noticed me then, his eyes flicking over my swollen belly before settling into a smile that never reached his gaze.
“You look tired,” he murmured as he leaned close while the bailiff’s attention was elsewhere. “Sign the papers and disappear. You should be thankful I am being generous.”
I swallowed, my throat burning. “I am not asking for generosity,” I said quietly. “I am asking for what is fair. Child support. Shared access to the house. Stability for our child.”
Vivian laughed loudly, drawing a few glances from nearby benches. “Fair,” she echoed, tilting her head as she looked me over. “You trapped him. Everyone knows that. You should be grateful he is not cutting you off completely.”
“Do not talk about my child,” I said, stepping back as dizziness washed over me.
Her expression hardened. Before I could react, she stepped forward and struck me across the face. The sound echoed unnaturally loud, followed by the metallic taste of blood and the sharp sting spreading across my cheek.
For a moment, the room froze.
Then whispers rippled outward like sparks catching fire.
Caleb did not stop her. He did not look shocked. He smiled faintly, as though mildly entertained.
“Now you might listen,” he said softly.
My hand moved instinctively to my stomach as my vision blurred. I searched the room for authority, for safety, for someone to intervene, but the bailiff stood near the doors, my attorney was absent, and the judge had not yet taken the bench.
“Cry louder,” Vivian whispered near my ear. “Maybe someone will feel sorry for you.”
That was when I lifted my gaze toward the bench, ready to speak the words I had swallowed for years, ready to ask for protection, ready to admit out loud that the man I married terrified me.
The judge was already looking at me. Judge Daniel Morrison.
Tall, composed, known for strict procedure and restraint, with dark hair threaded with gray and eyes identical to mine. Eyes I had seen in childhood photographs. Eyes that had watched over me long before I learned how to pretend I did not need anyone.
My brother.