I stared out the window. Please, Lucas. Please.

The courthouse halls were marble and echoey, smelling of floor wax and quiet desperation. As we walked toward the heavy oak doors of Courtroom 3B, I saw her.

Vanessa was waiting on the bench outside, in a sharp navy suit, her expression unreadable. But as we got closer, my eyes locked onto her chest.

Resting against her collarbone was a delicate silver pendant. A tiny engraved sunburst.

Noah’s necklace.

The one Grant had custom-ordered when I was seven months pregnant. He’d said he wanted to give it to our son on his first birthday. I hadn’t seen it since the hospital.