Enough time for Marcus’s team to regroup.
Enough time for Claire to text our investigator.
Enough time for me to walk toward the hallway water fountain because pregnancy turns thirst into a commandment.
The courtroom emptied in clusters.
Bennett stayed near the defense table, phone pressed to his ear.
Marcus followed me into the hallway.
Savannah followed him.
So did Paul Haskins, but at a distance.
The hallway smelled like floor wax, old paper, and rain.
A young mother sat on a bench near Family Services with a toddler asleep in her lap.
A man in work boots argued softly with a parking ticket clerk.
Two law students whispered near the bulletin board.
Ordinary lives.
Ordinary trouble.
Then my husband caught my elbow.
Not hard.
Just enough to remind me he was used to ownership.
“You need to stop,” he said.
I looked down at his hand.
He removed it.
Good boy.
“You’re losing control of the room,” I said.
His nostrils flared.
“You think this is control? Dragging private business into court? Embarrassing me?”
“You embarrassed yourself.”
Savannah laughed.
“You really think you’re winning because some judge asked a few questions?”
I looked at her.
Really looked.
At the glossy hair.
The flawless makeup.
The delicate diamond pendant I recognized because the charge had appeared on my AmEx before Marcus moved her to a separate card.
Underneath all that shine was fear.
Not guilt.
Fear.
There is a difference.
Guilt cares who got hurt.
Fear cares who found out.
“Savannah,” Marcus said.
But she stepped closer.
“You know what your problem is, Emily? You think being pregnant makes you untouchable.”
I said nothing.
She lowered her voice.
“You’re not special. You’re just first.”
The words slid under my skin.
Not because they were clever.
Because they were rehearsed.
I could almost hear Marcus in them.
First wife.
First baby.
First obstacle.
I rested my hand on my belly.
“Move.”
She smiled.
“Or what?”
Paul Haskins took one step closer.
Marcus saw him.
Savannah did not.
She leaned in, blocking my path with her body, and when I tried to step around her, she shifted her heel and drove the pointed toe of her shoe into the lower side of my stomach.
Not a stumble.
Not an accident.
A quick little kick hidden by her handbag and the angle of her coat.
But the pain folded through me.
My breath vanished.
The water fountain blurred.
My hand flew to the wall.
Marcus saw enough.
Not all.
Enough.
For one raw second, his face changed.
Not with concern.
With calculation.
Witnesses.
Camera.
Risk.
Then he made his choice.
He looked at Savannah and said, “Careful.”
Careful.
Not sorry.
Not stop.
Careful.
The young mother on the bench gasped.
Paul was already moving.
Claire came out of the courtroom at a run.
“Emily!”
Savannah stepped back, eyes wide now, mouth open in perfect innocence.
“She bumped me.”
Marcus moved between us.
“She’s fine,” he said.
I straightened slowly.
The pain was sharp, but not spreading.
No fluid.
