I burst through the double doors of the courtroom, sound ricocheting off the high ceiling. Moments before, the ambulance had dropped me off at the curb with King's blessing.
My shirt clung damp to my back with nervous sweat. My hands were clammy, Rowan's finger marks forming red rings on my throat, hot and tender when I swallowed.
Every head turned. For a moment, time seemed to stop.
Mia was here. That was all that mattered.
My legs threatened to give out, my knees buckling as I slid into the seat beside my daughter at the defense table. Mia hunched in her seat, her hair tugged back in a loose ponytail, purplish hollows beneath her eyes like bruises. She seemed smaller than yesterday, as if a single night in detention had hollowed her out. I had never felt this terrified of losing her.
Camille looked over and gave me a nod without breaking her low murmur to Mia.
The bailiff called the case, the judge took his seat, and the lawyers exchanged legalese that my brain could not comprehend, their words blurring into a drone of terms and citations as I waited, every muscle taut, barely breathing.
The district attorney rose. "Due to the additional evidence that has come to light, we're dropping the charge of murder in the first degree and reducing it to assault due to Mia Kincaid’s youth. We are asking the court to accept the deal and set aside the charges, providing Mia and Ms. Kincaid continue to testify and cooperate against the new defendant in the murder of Leah Cho."
"Ms. Kincaid," the judge said in a deep baritone, glaring at me over his glasses. "The court has reviewed the non-prosecution agreement and the transactional immunity that goes along with it. The court is willing to accept the terms and conditions of the agreement, provided you cooperate fully with the District Attorney's office. If the charges are set aside, they will be sealed with no record. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said.
"Yes, sir," Mia answered in a tremulous voice.
The gavel struck, sharp and final.
For a moment, nothing in the room moved. The air itself felt suspended. Camille leaned down, said something low, and gave Mia's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Mia turned. Her eyes found mine. They were wide, disbelieving, hardly daring to hope.
I stood before I consciously decided to move. Then Mia was on her feet, too. I hugged her to my chest as she clutched me with a ferocity that brought sudden tears to my eyes.
Her face pressed into my shoulder, her breath hot and ragged against my skin. Her ribs expanded and contracted beneath my hands. She smelled like soap and sweat and fear, and underneath it all, faintly, like herself. I held her tighter.
"It's over," I whispered into her hair. "It's over, baby."
The lie was out before I could stop it. I knew better. The ordeal was not over for those who loved Leah. It was not over for Vivienne and Daniel in their grief. It was not over for us, either.
This deal was not an eraser. It did not rewind time or unmake tragedy, nor did it absolve us of our mistakes or wrongdoings.
But it was an open door that had not been open before.
Mia pulled back enough for me to see her face. "I was so afraid."
"I know." I cupped her cheeks with both hands and rested my forehead against hers. We breathed the same air, the din of the room a haze around us.
None of it mattered. We were together.
Camille touched my shoulder. "We should go. The media are waiting."
Of course. The media were always waiting.
Outside, a dozen flashbulbs exploded in our eyes, the white afterimages burning into my vision. Reporters surged forward. Bodies and cameras and microphones jammed together to block our way.
I caught sight of Vivienne across the lawn. A mother standing alone, forlorn and straight-backed, arms at her sides. She watched us move past her. Then our eyes met.
Something passed between us. Recognition, maybe. She had lost Leah forever, while I still had Mia. That was the gulf between us. It was not forgiveness. It couldn't be, not yet, perhaps not ever.
Then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
The crush loosened near the curb. We moved as a unit toward the parking lot, Mia in the middle, Camille on one side, me on the other.
