I reminded myself to breathe.
A Small Hand Raised
Then something happened that no one had planned.
She raised her hand. Small. Steady.
“Harper,” I whispered, instinctively reaching toward her, hoping to stop her before she spoke.
But she stood anyway.
She faced the judge, her shoulders straight, her voice trembling but clear.
“Your Honor,” she said, “may I show you something? Something my mom doesn’t know about.”
The courtroom went completely still.
Caleb turned sharply toward her. For the first time that day, his composure cracked.
“Harper, sit down,” he said, his voice tight.
The judge leaned forward slightly, her attention fully on my daughter.
“What would you like to show me?” she asked.
Harper swallowed hard. “I have a video. It’s on my tablet. I saved it because I didn’t know who else to tell.”
My stomach dropped. A video?
Caleb’s attorney stood quickly, objecting. The judge raised a hand.
“I will review it,” she said calmly. Then she looked back at Harper. “But tell me first, why doesn’t your mother know about this?”
Harper’s chin trembled.
