I think I blacked out for a second, because the next thing I knew, Daddy was slipping out of me and pressing kisses upthe length of my spine.
“You came dry,” he said.
“What does that mean?” I croaked.
He chuckled against my skin, then fell on his side next to me. I rolled my head to the side to look at him.
“Means you came, but nothing came out.”
“Oh,” I sighed, too exhausted to really care.
“Hey, Elior.”
“Mm?”
“Let’s get married tomorrow.”
21
Elior
Three years later
Three years ago, I would have felt like I was dressing for my execution. At the time, the witness stand felt like the gallows, and Father’s attorney, the executioner.
Now, as I checked my black dress pants for cat fur, it just felt like another day.
I was a bit nervous, to be honest. I didn’t know how I’d react, or what emotions or memories would be dragged to the surface. But even so, my hands were steady. No longer did I tremble.
The small diamond ring on my left hand was a reminder that I had nothing to fear.
“You ready, cherub?” Daddy asked, his arms wrapping around me from behind, a matching ring adorning his finger.
“Yes.”
The courthouse was as loud and bright as it always was,filled with the rustling of paper, hushed conversations, and the squeaking of shoes against marble.
Daddy and I walked down the aisle, hands clasped, until he ushered me into a row towards the front.
Not long after we took our seats, the large double doors into the room opened and closed, and the crowd’s whispers quieted.
I inhaled slowly and looked.
Malachi—I was still working on calling him by his name instead of Father, a title he didn’t deserve—walked between two officers, wrists cuffed. His jumpsuit hung looser than I remembered. His hair, once meticulously kept, had thinned and gone almost entirely gray at the temples.
For most of my life, he had filled every room he entered. Even in silence, he commanded it.
Now the room swallowed him whole.
He didn’t search for me right away. His chin remained lifted, posture still attempting dignity, as if he were stepping up to a pulpit instead of a defendant’s table.
Daddy’s thumb brushed over my knuckles.
I squeezed back once.
The judge began speaking—formalities first. Case numbers. Charges. A summary of convictions already decided. Words likefraud,coercion,manslaughter,homicide, andconspiracyechoed through the room.
When the judge moved to sentencing, the room stilled completely.
