The judge looked at Linda with cold, unyielding eyes.

“Mrs. Collins, speak only when you are asked to,” Judge Ramirez said.

Sarah turned toward the back of the courtroom and nodded to the bailiff.

The heavy wooden doors creaked open once more.

An old man walked in, leaning heavily on a polished wooden cane.

His hair was entirely white, and his shoulders were slightly bent, but his eyes were bright and focused.

It was my father, Arthur Collins.

Linda gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared at him.

Hannah shrank back in her chair, looking at her mother with sudden, quiet panic.

My father walked slowly down the center aisle, the rubber tip of his cane squeaking on the linoleum.

He did not look at Linda or Hannah.

He looked straight at me and gave a small, steady nod of encouragement.

“Your Honor,” Sarah said, stepping forward.

“We call Arthur Collins to the stand.”

Linda’s attorney stood up to object, but Judge Ramirez waved him down with a swipe of her pen.

“Let him take the stand,” the judge said.