She stepped inside slowly, posture straight, expression composed, her coat a muted navy, her hair pulled back cleanly from her face. In each hand she held the small fingers of two identical boys who walked beside her in perfect silence, their dark jackets buttoned, their shoes polished, their eyes taking in the room with an alert stillness that was almost unnerving in children their age.
Twins.
A whisper passed across the benches like wind catching paper.
“Did she really bring children into a hearing like this?” someone murmured.
Vanessa let out a soft laugh that carried farther than she meant it to.
Julian did not stand. He only leaned back in his chair and watched his wife approach with a smile so faint it was more insult than expression.
“Still trying to make a scene,” he muttered, just loud enough for three rows of strangers to hear.
But the woman never looked at him.
She never looked at Vanessa.
She never looked toward the crowd that had already started to sort her into their preferred categories: manipulative, unstable, desperate, theatrical.