My husband sat in court beside the “Bu.tcher of Broadway,” mocking me like I’d already lost—after freezing my accounts and cutting me off. The judge was seconds from ruling in his favor… Then the doors burst open. A woman in a white suit walked in—and the moment his lawyer saw her, everything fell apart.

The judge nodded once, the kind of acknowledgment a man gives another man whose name he knows but whose company he does not necessarily enjoy.

Then he looked at me.

I stood too quickly and almost knocked the chair behind me.

“Mrs. Simmons,” he said, and there was a note in his voice I couldn’t quite place yet. Not kindness. Not impatience. Caution, maybe. “I see you are unaccompanied. Are you expecting counsel?”

I swallowed.

My throat felt lined with sand.

“Yes, Your Honor. She should be here any minute.”

Keith let out a little noise—something between a laugh and a cough. He covered it with one manicured hand, but the contempt in it echoed anyway.

Judge Henderson’s eyes snapped to him.

“Mr. Simmons, is there something amusing?”

Keith stood half an inch as if to apologize. Garrison put a restraining hand lightly on his forearm before speaking himself.

“My client is simply frustrated, Your Honor. The matter has been prolonged, and emotions are understandably running high.”

“Keep your client’s emotions inaudible, Mr. Ford.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

The judge turned back to me.