The words were careful, procedural, and almost unbearably small for what they meant. I had entered the courtroom under a twenty-five-year sentence. I left without that sentence hanging over my life.
Daniel hugged me in the hallway. He had been my attorney for years, but I had never seen him cry before.
“Are we finished?” I asked.
“With your criminal case, for now, yes. There will be other proceedings. And the damage won’t disappear because a judge signed an order.”
I knew that. Still, outside the courthouse, the air felt different. A reporter called my name. Another asked whether I wanted Nolan to suffer. I said only that my father deserved truth and Mara Quinn’s family deserved justice.
Mrs. Delaney waited beside a car. She had brought a coat I recognized from my old closet, a navy wool one Walter bought me after I complained about winter meetings. She helped me put it on as though I had been away on a long business trip.
