On the morning of the hearing Clara ironed the only charcoal jacket she owned.

Its lining had frayed beneath one arm.

She stitched it carefully, then put Idan’s drawing in her handbag beside the summons.

The courthouse smelled of floor polish and damp wool.

Reporters waited at the doors.

A few raised their cameras when they recognized Clara, and one asked whether she intended to apologize to the Hamiltons.

Naomi stepped between them without touching anyone.

“No statements,” she said.