At 3 A.M., My Brother Dragged Me Out of My Bedroom While Dad Laughed—He Had No Idea What the Smoke Detector Had Recorded

That afternoon, I met Ruth Miller.

Ruth was the attorney helping me understand the evidence process, housing issues, and possible protective measures.

She wore wire-rimmed glasses and carried a yellow legal pad.

We sat in a small office beside the strip mall.

She read my notes.

Then closed the binder.

“Madison, you’re still trying to prove what Douglas feels.”

I stared.