As I passed the defense table, Ethan’s eyes met mine.

They were wide, watery, and desperate.

He tried to lean toward me, but his attorney pulled him back by his sleeve.

Ethan whispered something to his lawyer, his hands shaking.

The lawyer frowned and shook his head.

I sat down next to Rachel.

“You did it,” she whispered, squeezing my right hand.

“It’s not over yet,” I said.

During the fifteen-minute recess, I went to the ladies’ room to splash cold water on my face.

When I came out, Vance was waiting for me in the corridor.

He held a manila folder against his chest.

“Natalie,” he said, beckoning me toward a quiet alcove near the water coolers.

“We have a development.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Ethan’s attorney just approached me,” Vance said.

“Ethan wants to talk.”

“What does he want to talk about?” I asked.

Vance leaned closer, the smell of stale courtroom coffee on his breath.

“He wants to give us his mother,” Vance said.

I let out a dry, quiet laugh that felt like sand in my throat.