Tall. Controlled. Known for rigid adherence to procedure. Dark hair threaded with gray. And eyes the exact same shade as mine—eyes I had grown up seeing across the dinner table.
My brother.
I hadn’t seen him in almost four years. Not since Adrian had slowly isolated me—mocking my family’s “limited thinking,” scheduling trips over holidays, intercepting messages, convincing me I was a burden. Eventually, I stopped calling. Daniel became a ghost I carried quietly inside me.
“Order,” Judge Harper said, but his voice trembled.
Adrian straightened. Vanessa smirked.
Then my brother leaned forward, gaze locked on mine.
“Bailiff,” he said quietly, “close the doors.”
The heavy doors shut with a final thud. The air shifted.
Adrian’s confidence flickered.
“Your Honor,” he began smoothly, “this is a straightforward dissolution. My wife is… emotional. Pregnancy hormones.”
Judge Harper’s gaze turned razor-sharp. “Do not speak about her body.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Can we move this along? She’s playing the victim.”
“Ms. Hart,” the judge said evenly, “did you strike Mrs. Cole in this courtroom?”
“She walked into me.”
“That is not an answer. Let the record reflect visible redness and bleeding.”