I sat in the old oak rocker in the corner, holding my newborn daughter against my shoulder.

She weighed six pounds eight ounces and was born four days after David was formally sent to the county jail without bail.

Her skin was soft and pale, and her dark hair curled against the collar of her white cotton sleeper.

“The district attorney called while you were feeding her,” Sarah said, tightening the last wooden bolt with a stubby screwdriver.

“Did he say anything about a trial date?” I asked.