Judge Monroe did not smile.
She leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on the edge of the bench, her eyes never leaving the child’s face. The room quieted, responding instinctively to the stillness she commanded.
Several weeks earlier, Thomas Keller had not thought of himself as a desperate man. He was tired, yes, and worn thin by responsibility, but desperation felt like something that belonged to other people, the kind you read about in headlines or whispered about in town. He worked long days repairing commercial buildings and small offices, taking whatever contracts came his way. His hands were permanently rough, his shoulders perpetually sore, and his back ached in ways that sleep never fully fixed.
None of that mattered to him as long as his daughter, Lila, was safe and breathing easily.