He had convinced me that the Miller name was a relic of a life that no longer mattered. He told me that my mother’s legacy was just a burden I needed to put away so I could focus on being his wife.
The judge looked back down at the document in his hand and then turned his gaze toward Harrison. “Mr. Prescott, are you familiar with the specific contents of this emergency filing that arrived this morning?” he asked.
Harrison straightened his expensive tie and regained his composure with a speed that was almost frightening. “Your Honor, I have no idea what that paper is, but I can assure you my wife has been emotionally volatile for a long time,” he replied.
He used the phrase “my wife” like it was a legal title that gave him permission to ignore her humanity. The judge did not blink or look away from Harrison’s face as he listened to the explanation.
“I did not ask for your opinion on her mental state, so please refrain from answering questions that were not posed to you,” the judge said. The silence returned, heavier than before, as the bailiff finished locking the heavy doors.