People shuffled through the security metal detectors, their keys clinking into plastic bins.

We passed through security and headed straight for Courtroom 302 on the third floor.

The hallway outside the courtroom was crowded with lawyers in dark suits and nervous families whispering on benches.

My mother, Helen, was sitting on a wooden bench near the end of the hall.

She looked small, her hands clutching a damp paper tissue.

When she saw me, her eyes widened, but she did not stand up.

She looked away, staring down at her black leather shoes.

Beside her sat my sister, Brooke.

Brooke’s blonde hair was damp, clinging to her cheeks, and her makeup was slightly smudged.

She looked at me with a mixture of anger and raw fear.

“Emily,” Brooke said, her voice cracking as she stood up.

I did not stop walking.

“Don’t do this,” Brooke whispered, reaching out a hand.

Daniel stepped between us, his shoulder blocking her path.

“Stay back, Brooke,” Daniel said, his voice quiet but sharp.

We pushed open the heavy double doors of Courtroom 302 and stepped inside.