"All rise!" the court clerk announces, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere of the courtroom.
We all rise. I'm wearing an exceptionally long wig today, a touch of drama to hide my nervousness.
I arrived just minutes before the session started, trying to avoid running into Saint, who I know would be waiting for my parents outside in the car.
The courtroom feels suffocating with tension. The murmurs of both sides create a low hum, but it's the anticipation that hangs thick in the air.
Mr. Adam stands confidently at the front, holding a photograph, his eyes intense as he prepares to make his case. I glance over at the Bonfires, seated across from him. Their lawyer seems tense, his lips pressed together in quiet frustration.
Judge Harrison, seated at the bench, watches over the proceedings with an unreadable expression, her sharp gaze scanning everyone in the room.
Judge Harrison enters, her presence commanding immediate silence. Everyone takes their seats.
Judge Harrison, with a voice that demands attention, speaks.
"This is the third session of the case: CV-2025-0315. Edwards vs. Bonfire. Are both parties ready to proceed?"
Mr. Adam, standing up straight, responds without hesitation,
"Yes, Your Honor."
Judge Harrison, her eyes flicking from him to the rest of the room, nods.
"Proceed."
Mr. Adam steps forward, holding up a photograph of a young boy. He walks toward the bench, carefully positioning it so everyone in the courtroom can see. He clears his throat softly, then begins,
"Your Honor, as requested by the court in the previous session, we have secured a photograph of my client's son, Dan, when he was five years old."
The photograph is shown clearly to the room,
a young boy with curly hair, bright eyes, and a smile that strikes a familiar chord. He turns the photo slightly so that the judge and the court can examine it closely.
The camera zooms in on the photograph as the boy's features become more apparent.
"Now," Mr. Adam continues, "if I could direct your attention to the footage presented in the last trial, you'll see a child matching the physical description of this boy.
The footage, however, lacked one critical detail—the child's face.
While the footage failed to properly capture the child's face, we clearly see a child with the same hair texture, body build, posture, and size."
He pauses, letting his words sink in, before continuing,
"This child in the footage is wearing the same curly hair as my client's son at the same age. The match is undeniable."
There's a faint murmur in the courtroom, coming from the Bonfires. Their lawyer looks at the photograph, her face tight with concern as she murmurs something to the client.
Mr. Bonfire's lawyer stands up, agitated,
"Objection, Your Honor. This photo is not concrete evidence. Hair texture alone cannot prove the identity of the child in the footage. The boy's face isn't shown clearly in the footage. This is merely speculation."
Judge Harrison turns her gaze toward the defense, then shifts back to the photograph. She studies the footage once more before speaking,
"Mr. Adam, while I see the resemblance you are trying to highlight, this still remains circumstantial evidence. The footage, as pointed out by the defense, does not clearly show the child's face. Therefore, we cannot make assumptions based on hair texture or size. This evidence is inconclusive."
I watch Mr. Adam clench his jaw, his frustration almost palpable. He knows how much the Bonfires have swayed the judge, but he presses on.
Mr. Adam, visibly trying to maintain his composure, begins again,
"Your Honor, we understand your concerns. But this is not just about hair texture. It's about physical similarities—how the child moves, how he carries himself. These are small but crucial details. The court has already seen these patterns in the footage. Our position is that this child is, in fact, Dan Edwards. We ask that the court allow for a more thorough examination of the footage and perhaps consider a DNA test, as we cannot ignore the striking similarities."
Judge Harrison looks down, her lips curling into a tight, almost dismissive smile. She turns her gaze to the Bonfires, who sit confidently, exchanging quiet, knowing glances.
She responds in a tone that suggests her growing bias,
"While I appreciate your fervor, Mr. Adam, we must remain focused on the facts. There is no solid evidence here, just assumptions. The Bonfires have provided a stable home for this child, and there is no reason to believe otherwise. They are the rightful guardians of this child."
The courtroom feels heavier now. Mr. Adam looks visibly frustrated, but he holds back, knowing further argument may do more harm than good. The Bonfires' lawyer stands,
I watch Mrs Bonfire's face
turn into a victorious smile. She knows they had successfully deflected the argument for now.
The defense lawyer speaks confidently,
"Your Honor, this case has gone on far too long. We request that you dismiss these charges. The plaintiff's claims are based on nothing but assumptions. There is no concrete evidence to suggest that the Bonfires are anything but the rightful guardians of this child."
I turn to my mom, who gasps loudly in frustration. My heart sinks as I see how this case is weighing on her. She's holding it together, but I can tell it's taking its toll.
Judge Harrison bangs her gavel, signaling for silence. She takes a moment, her eyes scanning the room before speaking,
"The court will adjourn for today. The plaintiffs will have the opportunity to submit additional evidence. We will reconvene at the next session."
She then looks over at the Bonfires, her eyes softening slightly, as though offering them comfort.
"Until then, I urge both parties to consider the consequences of further prolonging this matter."
As the courtroom empties, I can feel the weight of the entire situation crashing down. Mr. Adam, his fingers tapping restlessly on the table, is visibly upset. I notice Dad, his face dark with frustration, murmuring angrily to him. I can tell he knows the Bonfires are getting favorable treatment, but he isn't ready to give up. He won't stop until he finds a way to turn the case around.
I quickly gather myself, slipping on my cap before making my way to the large exit door. I don't want to attract attention, especially not now.
Suddenly, a familiar voice calls out,
"Helen, is that you?"
I freeze, my heart racing. It's Aunt Tay. I don't want to deal with her right now, but I turn with a forced, panic-stricken smile. My eyes dart around the room, scanning for my parents.
"I didn't know you'd come," she says, looking at me with suspicion.
I don't respond.
"This must be a lot for you right now," she adds softly, her eyes filled with pity.
I nod sheepishly, all too aware of the situation. I glance quickly towards Dad and his lawyer exiting the courtroom.
"Aunt Tay, I need to go," I say, trying to sound casual, but my nerves are evident. "I'm late for class."
Aunt Tay looks confused, her brow furrowing. Before she can say anything more, I hurry away.
"Take care, alright?" she calls after me, her voice fading as I rush toward the exit.
My heart pounds in my chest, each beat louder than the last as I make my way through the crowded street, trying desperately not to run into anyone I know.
I quickly reach for my phone and begin to book a ride, hoping that I can escape the heavy weight of the court and its lingering tension.
Dr. Dave—my therapist—is the perfect excuse. No one would question me going to see him, and it's my best shot at making my absence seem normal.
A deep breath escapes my lips as I confirm the ride.
I turn and walk in the opposite direction of the courthouse, trying to put as much distance between myself and the scene that unfolded behind me.
My steps quicken as I move farther down the road, each footfall a reminder of how badly I need to be anywhere but here.
The street is quieter now, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the courtroom, and I take a moment to look around, hoping for a brief respite from the chaos in my mind.
Just then, I spot a familiar sight—a car slowly making its way down the street. My heart drops as I realize it's my parents' car.
I instinctively tug the cap down even further, lowering my head to avoid being seen. My pace quickens, but the car, almost as if it's tracking me, begins to slow.
The distance between us shrinks, and my breath catches in my throat. I know it's only a matter of seconds before they spot me.
As the car draws closer, I feel my heartbeat slow in my chest, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach.
But before I can turn to face the inevitable, I glance through the window—and there, sitting obliviously, are my parents, deep in their own conversation, unaware of my presence.
I let out a soft, relieved sigh. For a moment, I think I'm safe, but then my eyes lock with Saint's. She's sitting in the front seat, her gaze meeting mine through the window.
My breath catches in my throat as she smiles at me, a soft, knowing smile that sends a chill down my spine. Before I can react, the car speeds off, disappearing into the traffic.
I stand there for a moment, frozen, my heart still racing. I've been holding my breath for so long that now, with the car gone, I can finally exhale, the tension lifting from my shoulders just slightly.
Almost immediately, my phone buzzes in my pocket. The sudden sound snaps me out of my thoughts.