The courtroom filled again as the second hearing opened.
More journalists.
More hushed conversations.
More spectators pretending they cared about justice when, in truth, they had come to watch a family fall apart in front of everyone.
Judge Martinez noticed every bit of it.
Before the first witness took the stand, she peered over her glasses and declared, “This is not a circus. This court’s concern is Lily Reynolds. Anyone who forgets that will leave.”
No one chuckled after those words.
The first witness was Dr. Lawrence Phillips, the neurologist Uncle James had suggested.
His résumé was remarkable.
Harvard.
Mayo Clinic.
Respected publications.
A steady voice that made numbers sound unavoidable.
He acknowledged that Daddy’s cognitive evaluations were entirely normal.
Then he shifted to discussing what might happen in the future.
Potential decline.
Possibility.
Risk.
Probabilities.
My mother’s lawyer seemed especially fond of that word.
Probabilities.
Mr. Chen rose for cross-examination.
“Doctor, has Mr. Reynolds shown any cognitive impairment today?”
“No.”
“Can you state with certainty that he will experience cognitive decline?”
“No.”
“So what you are describing is a possibility, not a present fact.”
Dr. Phillips clearly disliked that question.
But he answered yes.
Next, Dr. Sarah Bennett testified about me.
She explained that I had not been coached.
She testified that my bond with Daddy was healthy.
She added that I spoke about my mother carefully because my experiences had taught me to be careful.
My mother looked hurt when she heard those words.
At the time, I could not tell whether that pain was genuine.
Some truths only become clear after many years.
Then the photographs appeared.
My mother’s attorney projected them onto the courtroom screens.
Me opening a door for Daddy.
Me reaching something from a shelf.
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