“The nurses,” I say, turning slightly toward him as I move toward the aisle. “The private ones you refused to pay because you didn’t want strangers in the house. Those reimbursements you called theft? That was me. The one hundred thirty-six thousand that saved the farm four years ago? Also me. Ashley’s scholarship? Me too.”
Ashley makes a broken sound.
“I did not do any of it because I loved the legacy,” I continue. “I did it because my mother loved you. But that debt is settled now.”
Marcus steps aside to clear my path.
Judge Miller says nothing. He does not need to. There is something like respect in the set of his mouth when I pass the bench, and that is enough. More than enough.
I move through the gallery without looking at anyone directly. Past Ashley, who cannot meet my eyes. Past two jurors who were prepared to convict me of the story they already liked. Past the pew where my father’s old friend from the feed store sits with his hands folded too tightly together, suddenly unsure what kind of town tale he will be able to tell after today.