She sat in her chair like a statue carved from gray stone.

“She’s lying,” Josephine said.

She didn’t raise her voice, but the words carried clearly across the quiet room.

The judge looked down at Josephine.

“Mrs. Sullivan, you will remain silent until you are called,” the judge said.

Her voice was sharp as ice.

“My daughter is unstable,” Josephine said, standing up anyway.

“She has always been weak,” Josephine said.

“Sit down, Mrs. Sullivan,” the judge said.

Two bailiffs in tan uniforms stepped forward from the back wall.

Their leather holsters creaked as they moved.

Josephine looked at the bailiffs, then slowly sat back down.

Her face was pale, but her eyes still burned with anger.

Melanie was crying openly now, her head resting on her arms on the witness stand.

“I’m sorry, Leo,” Melanie sobbed, looking toward us.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

Leo didn’t look at her.

He kept his eyes fixed on the judge’s bench.

Mr. Miller turned back to his table.

“I have no further questions for this witness, Your Honor,” he said.

The defense attorney shook his head and remained seated.