The streets of Des Moines were covered in a thick layer of white slush.

We walked into the courthouse through the side entrance to avoid the local reporters.

The courtroom was small, with dark wood paneling and a high ceiling.

Josephine sat at the defense table.

She wore a dark gray wool suit.

Her face was completely expressionless, like a statue carved from stone.

She did not look at Leo, and she did not look at me.

Melanie sat two chairs away from her.

Melanie looked smaller than I remembered.

Her eyes were red and swollen, and she kept chewing on her lower lip.

She looked at her lap, her hands shaking as she adjusted her coat.

The assistant county attorney, a young man named Marcus Miller, stood up.

He began laying out the state’s case.

He spoke of the confinement, the forced sedation, and the systematic theft of my savings.

As he spoke, Melanie’s shoulders began to shake.

She let out a small, muffled sob.

Josephine did not turn her head.

She kept her eyes fixed on the judge, her jaw set.