Grant took his seat across the aisle in the charcoal suit he’d worn for our vow renewal, his leather briefcase resting next to Richard Hale’s yellow legal pads.

In the second row of the gallery, Margaret sat smoothing the lapels of her lavender jacket, her eyes fixed on the seal over the judge’s bench.

Next to her, Natalie Price kept her right hand in her lap, spinning a silver chain bracelet around her wrist with quick, nervous fingers.

Judge Whitmore came in through the side door, her black robes rustling as she took the bench and slid her reading glasses down onto her nose.

Hale was on his feet at once, tapping his gold fountain pen on his notepad.