The city was just beginning to wake when she arrived, the streets still damp from a light drizzle that clung to everything like a thin gray film. The sky looked pale and distant, as if it had no interest in the outcome waiting behind those stone walls.
Emily sat in the passenger seat of her mother’s car, one hand resting protectively over her eight-month pregnant belly. The gentle movement inside her grounded her, reminding her that whatever happened today, she was no longer living just for herself.
Her mother, Linda Carter, glanced at her, worry slipping through despite her effort to hide it. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”
Emily shook her head slowly, calm but unshakable. “I’m not alone,” she said softly. “Not anymore.”
Her phone buzzed in her lap. A message from her lawyer appeared: Everything is ready. Trust the process.
She read it twice, then locked the screen. Trust. Once, that word had defined her life—her marriage, her choices, her future. Now it felt distant, like a language she used to speak but had forgotten.