Chapter 8
The trial happened the next year.
By then I was eight.
Old enough to remember.
Young enough that adults kept saying, “You don’t have to testify.”
But I wanted to.
I needed Karen to hear me say it.
Aunt Sarah squeezed my hand outside the courtroom.
“You can change your mind.”
I shook my head.
Dad knelt in front of me.
“You don’t have to be brave for us.”
I looked at him.
“I’m being brave for Lucas.”
He cried.
In court, Karen wore a navy dress and soft makeup.
She looked like every school principal, every church lady, every smiling mother in every photo album.
Then the prosecutor played the birthday video.
Karen holding the fork.
Lucas crying.
Me slapping the cake away.
Karen raising her hand.
Aunt Sarah catching it.
The jury watched.
Karen looked down.
Not ashamed.
Angry.
When I testified, my feet did not touch the floor.
The microphone felt too big.
The lawyer asked, “Did Karen know Lucas was allergic?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“She took him to the hospital before. And Dad told everyone. And his medicine was in the kitchen.”
“Did Lucas want the cake?”
“No.”
“What did Karen do?”
I swallowed.
“She held his face and tried to make him eat it.”
The defense attorney stood.
“Isn’t it true you disliked Karen because she replaced your mother?”
I looked at him.
Then at Karen.
“She didn’t replace my mother,” I said.
“She tried to erase her.”
The courtroom went silent.
Karen’s face turned red.
I kept going.
“And my mother would never hurt Lucas.”
May you like
The prosecutor smiled softly.
“No more questions.”
