Chapter 6 - The Voice of an Eleven-Year-Old
Sophie stood up slowly. Her hands were shaking, but she walked to the carved wooden podium in the center of the courtroom, her small shoes clicking softly against the floor.
"You don't have to be afraid, child," Judge Miller said, resting her chin in her hands. "I just want you to answer one question for me. Why did you leave the house this morning?"
Sophie gripped the edges of the wooden podium. She looked up at the high bench, then turned her head to look at Victoria Sterling, who gave her a tight, warning frown. Then she looked at Owen, who gave her a small, reassuring nod.
"When our parents died," Sophie began, her voice small at first, then growing clearer, "we stayed in a place with green walls and cold floors. A lady told us that four sisters were too many to keep together. She said people only want one kid, maybe two, but nobody wants four because four is too expensive and too loud."
Sophie swallowed hard, her chest heaving slightly.
"We went to three homes," she continued. "In the first home, the man yelled when Issa cried. In the second home, they kept our backpacks locked in a closet so we couldn't touch our things. In the third home, they left us alone all weekend with frozen dinners. We learned to keep our things packed. We kept our boots under our beds so we could be ready when they told us to go."
Judge Miller watched the girl, her face unreadable, but her hands had stilled on her desk.
"Then Owen brought us to his house," Sophie said, a soft warmth blossoming in her tone. "It was big and scary at first. We thought he was going to give us away when Bella drew on his silk rug with red marker. But he didn't get mad. He got down on the floor with a brush and cleaned it with her, and then he bought her a giant easel so she could draw as big as she wanted."
Sophie looked directly at Judge Miller.
"When Luma couldn't sleep because she missed Mom’s piano, Owen didn't tell her to be quiet. He hired a teacher, and he sat on the bench with her every night at eight o'clock, even when he had big work calls. And when Issa had nightmares about the crash, Owen didn't send the housekeeper. He slept on the floor beside her bed for three weeks until she wasn't scared of the dark anymore."
Tears were streaming silently down Sophie’s cheeks now, but her voice didn't waver.
"We ran away this morning because we love him," Sophie whispered. "In every other house, we were just four extra mouths to feed. With Owen, we were his daughters. And we knew that if you took us away today, it would break his heart. We wanted to take the pain for him."
A profound, suffocating silence gripped the courtroom.
Helena was weeping softly into a handkerchief in the gallery. Even the bailiff near the door had looked down at the floor, cleared his throat, and adjusted his belt.
Judge Miller sat motionless behind the bench. She looked at Victoria Sterling, whose face had turned a pale, splotchy red, then at Donald Croft, who looked thoroughly uncomfortable holding his clipboard.
Before the judge could speak, Richard stepped quietly through the back doors of the courtroom. He walked swiftly down the aisle, leaned over the wooden bar, and slipped a leather folder into Marcus Vance’s hands.
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Marcus opened the folder, scanned the documents inside, and his eyes widened.
"Your Honor," Marcus announced, standing up with sudden, electric authority. "Before you render any decision, we request permission to enter emergency evidence into the record."
