Fresh snow covered the steps of the county courthouse, muffling the footsteps of the arriving reporters.

The courtroom was already packed with television cameras and spectators when I walked inside.

My wool coat was damp from the sleet, but my hands were warm and steady.

I set my briefcase on the heavy oak table on the petitioner’s side.

Benjamin sat in the row behind me, his face pale, his eyes sunken from sleeplessness.

His daughters were safe at a secure medical facility under Dr. Hart’s watch.

Vanessa sat at the respondent’s table across the aisle, dressed in a sharp, tailored cream suit.

Her defense attorney, a tall man named Richard Sterling, whispered in her ear.

She did not look at Benjamin; she only glared at me with pure venom.

Detective Daniel Pierce stood near the back of the courtroom, his arms crossed over his chest.

He gave me a brief, firm nod as the bailiff called the court to order.

Judge Margaret Vance took her seat on the bench, her glasses sliding down her nose.