I hadn’t seen Daniel in almost five years—not since Ethan slowly pushed my family out of my life. Mocking their “small-town thinking.” Scheduling holidays over conferences. Intercepting messages. Convincing me I was a burden.
“Order,” Judge Hartman said.
But his voice trembled.
Ethan straightened. Madeline smirked.
Then the judge leaned forward.
“Bailiff,” he said quietly. “Close the doors.”
The courtroom doors slammed shut, sealing the room in sudden silence. The bailiff stood guard.
Ethan’s confidence wavered.
“Your Honor,” he began smoothly, “this is a simple divorce. My wife is… emotional. Pregnancy hormones.”
Judge Hartman’s gaze snapped to him.
“Do not speak about her body.”
Madeline rolled her eyes. “Can we move on? She’s playing the victim.”
The judge’s voice lowered. “Ms. Pierce, did you strike Mrs. Crowell in my courtroom?”
“She bumped into me.”
“That is not an answer,” he replied. “Let the record show visible injury.”
Ethan tried again. “Your Honor—”
“No.” The judge raised his hand. “Bailiff.”
Then he looked at me.
“Mrs. Crowell, are you asking this court for protection?”
Fear clawed at me. Then my baby kicked—hard.