The image seared itself into my brain: humiliation given human form. And it was my fault.
The hearing ground on, a grotesque puppet show. Victoria took the stand, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
"I've always tried to be a mother to Millie," she said, her voice trembling with practiced sincerity. "I know I can't replace her real mother, but I've done my best."
"And yet," Rossi prompted gently, "you've been accused of cruelty. Of telling this child she wasn't loved."
"I would never." Victoria's voice cracked beautifully. "I don't know why Miss Cross would say those things. Unless..."
"Unless what, Mrs. Sterling?"
Victoria glanced at me with wounded confusion. "Unless she had her own reasons for wanting me gone."
I wanted to stand up and call her a liar. Miles's hand on my arm kept me seated.
The testimony continued. Rossi painted her picture with expert strokes, the grieving widower's controlling nature, his inappropriate relationship with "the help," and his prioritization of work over family. Claire's brutalized testimony was repurposed as evidence ofmyfailings. My protectiveness became control. My grief became neglect. My gratitude to Claire became an affair.
"Mr. Sterling has created a chaotic household," Rossi summarized. "He brought in a psychologically vulnerable woman, blurred professional boundaries, and endangered his own child through negligence. My client is the victim here, Your Honor. Not the villain."
The judge, a weary woman named Flores, listened with an inscrutable expression. When the arguments concluded, she removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
"This court will adjourn until next Friday to review the substantial new evidence submitted." The gavel fell. "We're adjourned."
I drove home in a fury that had no outlet. I was thankful that James and his wife had agreed to watch Millie at the hospital while Claire and I were at the court hearing. I couldn’t go back to her while I was this livid; she would be able to tell that something was wrong.
The mansion felt like a museum of my failures.
I went to my study, poured a whiskey, and stood at the window watching the evening bleed into the garden. I didn't drink. I just replayed the courtroom horror on loop, the way Claire's face had drained of color, the way her voice had faltered, the way she'd looked at me before walking out.
A soft knock at the door.
"Come in."
Claire stood in the doorway, still in that navy courtroom dress. She looked smaller than I'd ever seen her. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry, her expression eerily calm. The calm of absolute defeat.
"Can we talk?"
"Of course." I gestured to a chair, my heart beating in a heavy rhythm. "Claire, about what happened today, I am so sorry. There are no words. I had no idea they would go that far. Miles is already filing a motion to have those records suppressed, to sanction Rossi for?—"
"I'm leaving, Mr. Sterling."
Her words cut through my stumbling apologies like a blade. The air left the room.
"What?"
"Resigning. Effective immediately."
"Claire, you can't…" I heard the desperation in my own voice and hated it. "Millie's still in the hospital. She needs the stability, she needsyou?—"
"Don't." Her voice cracked. "Please don't use her to make me stay. It's not fair."
"I'm not trying to manipulate you, I'm trying to?—"
"What? Protect me?" She laughed, hollow and broken. "How's that working out so far?"
The question landed like a slap to my face. I had no answer.
"I'll complete the week," she continued, her voice steadying. "Help with the transition. Say a proper goodbye to Millie. But after that, I have to go."
