My father’s voice cut across the courtroom sharp and amused, the kind of line meant to land before anyone had time to consider whether they should laugh. A few people did. Not loudly. Just enough.
I stood at the respondent’s table with both hands resting lightly on the wood, fingers still in that way that had nothing to do with calm and everything to do with discipline. I didn’t look at him.
I wasn’t going to let him watch the insult land. Across the aisle, he leaned back like the room already belonged to him, one arm hanging over the chair, ankle crossed over his knee, wearing that same loose confidence he had worn my entire life whenever he wanted everyone nearby to understand he was the one who knew how things worked.
“She actually walked in here alone,” he added, shaking his head. “No counsel, no strategy. Just a uniform and attitude.”
A murmur moved behind me.
Then the judge spoke.
“Mr. Hayes,” he said evenly, “that will be enough.”
My father sat back with a faint smirk, but the judge had already turned to me.
“Ms. Hayes, you understand that you have the right to counsel.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And you are choosing to proceed on your own.”
“Yes, sir.”