Chapter 22 - BEFORE TRIAL
Marcellus was four months old by then.
Rolling from back to side.
Laughing at ceiling fans.
Drooling on everything.
The case took up less of his life than mine.
That was important.
He did not know:
Theodora.
Trial.
Fire.
He knew milk.
Warm baths.
My necklace.
Dad’s ridiculous high-pitched baby voice.
I wanted to keep it that way.
The week before trial, my sister asked through mediator:
“Can I see a photograph?”
I froze.
Not hold him.
Not visit.
A photograph.
I had sent photos before the incident.
None since.
I asked Mira:
“Would sending one mean I’m forgiving?”
“No.”
“Would refusing mean I’m protecting him?”
“Not necessarily.”
Then:
“What do you want?”
I hated that question.
I wanted my sister to see him.
I also wanted her to feel consequences.
Those were different motives.
So I sent one photograph through the mediator.
Marcellus asleep.
No message.
My sister replied:
Thank you.
Nothing else.
Good.
Then trial.
May you like
I packed a bottle even though Marcellus would stay with a sitter during testimony.
My hands needed something maternal to do.
