Monday morning arrived with a pale blue sky.

The military courtroom was located in building 402, an old brick structure near the parade grounds.

The air conditioning inside was loud, a low growl that shook the window panes.

I sat in the front row of the spectator gallery, wearing my dress whites.

My parents sat three rows behind me.

They did not speak to me when I walked in.

My mother kept her eyes on her purse.

My father stared at the seal of the Department of the Army on the wall behind the judge’s bench.

Andrew was led in by two armed guards.

He was wearing his Class A uniform, but his rank insignia had been removed.

His shoulders were slumped.

He looked smaller than he had in my office.

His collar was damp with sweat.

He did not look at me.

He did not look at Claire, who sat on the far side of the gallery, clutching a wet tissue.

The prosecutor was a young Major named Higgins.

He had a sharp nose and a stack of manila folders that looked two feet high.