The double doors of the Portsmouth Family Courtroom opened at ten minutes to nine in the morning.

I walked in with Daniel Vance beside me, my brass medals heavy against the dark Navy wool of my dress uniform jacket.

My father sat at the plaintiff’s table in a dark gray suit.

He turned in his swivel chair, saw my uniform, and let out a short, soft laugh.

My mother sat next to him in a beige coat.

She twirled her single strand of pearls between her thumb and forefinger, looked at my ribbon racks, and slowly shook her head.