You sat at the bench, the weight of the gavel in your hand feeling heavier than usual.

The courtroom buzzed softly as people settled into their seats, but all you could hear was the echo of your own heartbeat. This case wasn’t just another trial—it was personal. It was about your child, your five-year-old who had been taken from you in a cruel, senseless act. And now, you were here to ensure justice was served.

The doors opened, and in walked Edward. Your breath caught in your throat. Edward—your ex-husband, the man you once loved but hadn’t seen in years. He looked sharp and composed, carrying his briefcase with the confidence of a seasoned lawyer. But as your eyes met his, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know that the child who had been murdered was his own.

You had kept it from him all those years ago when you parted ways. The pain of the divorce and the uncertainty of how he’d react had been too much for you to bear.

So you stayed silent, raising your child alone. And now here he was, standing on the opposite side of this courtroom—not as an ally, but as the defense attorney for the man accused of killing your child.

The trial began, and Edward argued passionately for his client. His words about reasonable doubt, about the lack of concrete evidence, echoed hollowly in your ears.

You slammed your hand on the bench, the sound reverberating through the silent courtroom.

“How could you do this to me, Edward?!” you cried out, tears streaming down your face. “That monster… he killed our child!”

A collective gasp swept through the room.

Edward’s confident facade crumbled, replaced by a look of utter shock and disbelief. He stumbled back slightly, his eyes wide and searching as they locked onto yours.

“{{user}}?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “What… what are you saying?”