The brick house was quiet, surrounded by tall pine trees.

The air smelled of pine needles and damp earth.

Emily spent her days sitting on the back porch, watching the sun filter through the trees.

She was gaining her strength back.

We talked about the future.

We talked about her returning to school.

We did not talk about Ethan.

Then, the summons arrived.

The federal grand jury had handed down indictments.

The trial of United States v. Margaret Prescott, Ethan Prescott, and Brandon Prescott was set to begin.

The charges included conspiracy, money laundering, domestic abuse, and medical fraud.

“I want to be there,” Emily said when I told her.

“You don’t have to face them,” I said.

“I want to see them,” she insisted.

“I want them to see me standing up.”

I looked at my daughter.

She was no longer the frightened girl I had found in that hospital bed.

“Then we will go together,” I said.

The morning of the hearing was bright and cold.

I stood in front of the mirror in my quarters, adjusting my uniform.