The four days leading up to the hearing passed in a blur of gray static. Time lost its meaning, measured not in hours or minutes but in news cycles and legal briefs. The house, usually a sanctuary, had transformed into a command center. The living room was covered in printed documents, redacted emails, and timeline charts pinned to the walls. David slept on the couch for two nights. Sarah barely left the front door. The media presence outside had grown from a nuisance to a siege. They lined the street twenty-four hours a day, their camera lights turning the night into a pale, artificial day.
I spent those days in the study, behind blackout curtains. I reviewed my testimony until the words lost their meaning. I practiced my breathing until it became automatic. I memorized the dates, the tr
