Sloane smiled back, her shoulders relaxing.

Deborah turned to me, her face grim.

“I’m calling Linda Aris now,” Deborah said.

She pulled out her phone and walked quickly toward the hallway.

I sat alone at the defense table.

My hands were shaking slightly, so I clasped them in my lap.

I looked across the aisle at Gavin.

He walked over to the gallery railing to whisper to Sloane.

“It’s over,” I heard him whisper.

“She has nothing.”

Sloane reached out and patted his hand.

I looked down at the photocopy of the agreement.

The fake date stared back at me.

I closed my eyes and pictured the hospital room from eight years ago.

The monitors beeping.

The pain of the incision.

Gavin standing over me, holding a pen.

“Just sign here, Cass,” he had said back then.

“It’s just the hospital release forms.”

He had stolen my signature while I was struggling to hold my newborn boys.

He had saved it for five years, waiting for the right moment to use it.

The door to the courtroom opened.