Chapter 8 - The Hallway of the Courthouse
The County Courthouse smelled like floor wax, old paper, and stale coffee.
At 1:45 PM, our family sat on the long polished oak benches outside Courtroom 3B. Grandma wore her dark navy suit, looking like a judge herself. Uncle Mark sat beside me, while Aunt Sarah held Toby in her lap, letting him play with a red plastic toy car.
At the far end of the long marble corridor, the elevator doors slid open with a loud ding.
Dad stepped out.
He wasn't wearing his usual dusty polo shirt and work boots. He wore a dark grey suit that looked slightly too tight around his shoulders, his hair combed back flat with water.
Right behind him walked Brenda. She wore a black tailored dress, large dark sunglasses perched on her head, and brought along a slick, bald man in a three-piece pin-striped suit carrying a leather briefcase twice as big as Mr. Vance’s.
Dad saw us sitting on the bench and immediately stopped.
His lawyer pulled him by the elbow, whispering frantically into his ear, but Dad’s eyes were locked entirely on me.
He looked terrible. Deep dark circles hung under his eyes, his skin looked gray, and his neck twitched like he hadn't slept a single minute all night.
Brenda grabbed Dad’s arm, pulling him toward the courtroom doors, but Dad shook her hand off.
He walked straight down the hallway toward our bench.
Uncle Mark stood up instantly, stepping between Dad and the bench, his tall frame blocking the way. "David. Keep your distance."
"Mark, I just want to speak to my son for one minute," Dad pleaded, his voice raspy and choked. "Just one minute before we go in there."
Grandma looked up from her bench. "Let him speak, Mark."
Uncle Mark took half a step back, but kept his eyes fixed on Dad’s hands.
Dad dropped down onto one knee right in front of me, his expensive gray suit trousers touching the cold marble floor. Up close, I could smell the stale coffee and cigarette smoke on his breath—he’d started smoking again, something he hadn't done since Mom died.
"Leo," Dad whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "Leo, buddy... look at me."
I looked at him. But I didn't feel scared anymore. The panic that had squeezed my chest in the dog crate was completely gone, replaced by a strange, heavy quietness.
"Leo, I’m so sorry," Dad stammered, reaching out a hand, then pulling it back when Mark shifted his feet. "Yesterday... yesterday got completely out of hand. Brenda and I... we were under so much stress. The house, the business, everything... I made a terrible mistake letting things go that far."
"You closed the latch," I said.
Dad swallowed hard, a tear spilling over his lower lid. "Leo..."
"You stood right there," I said, my voice steady, my words clear enough for everyone in the hallway to hear. "She shoved me, my knee was bleeding, and you picked up my shoes and threw them in the bushes so I couldn't get away. You didn't make a mistake, Dad. You helped her."
Dad’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Behind him, Brenda’s high heels clicked against the marble. "David! Get up off the floor! Stop groveling to a nine-year-old! Mr. Harris said we need to go in!"
Dad turned his head slowly and looked at Brenda.
The look on his face wasn't anger. It was pure, horrifying realization. He looked at her expensive dress, her sunglasses, her sleek lawyer—and then he looked back at his two sons sitting on a wooden bench, holding a cheap red toy car and a medical report.
He had traded everything that mattered for a woman who treated his family like trash, and now the bill was due.
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The heavy double doors of Courtroom 3B swung open.
A bailiff in a brown uniform stepped out into the hall. "Sterling matter. All parties step inside."
