“Sweetheart, you’re up. There’s a plate of bacon, eggs, toast, and hash browns on the counter, all of your favorite breakfast foods.” She smiles and points at the plate.

I stumble into the kitchen and plunge my fork into the food, shoveling it into my mouth. I didn’t eat like this in jail.

“I’m going to do some shopping today, and I need to find a nearby hotel.” She turns off the faucet and dries her hands. “As much as I would love to stay here with you, that loveseat is just not up to my standards, and I’m sure I’m going to have to see a chiropractor today because of it.” She rubs her back and then sets a cup of coffee down in front of me.

“These trials can go on for a long time.” I take a bite of toast. “You can go back to Connecticut, Mom.”

“Nonsense. You’re my son, and this trial should be speedy because you’re innocent. We’ll see to it that Sarah gets this done quickly.” She nods encouragingly at me.

She picks up her purse and puts on her heels. “Just call me if you need anything. I’ll be back later tonight,” she says planting a kiss on my cheek. “Love you, cubbie-bear.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

* * *

It’s a little after 11am, and I don’t even know what to do with myself now. It’s only been two hours since Mom left, and I already feel alone. A knock at the front door startles me. Through the peephole I see a petite woman with fire-red hair, hazel eyes, and a face full of freckles. She has a laptop bag hanging from her shoulder. I kind of recognize her, but not really. I decide to open the door anyway.

“Hi. Are you Adam Morgan?” She looks me up and down, surveying my disheveled appearance.

“Depends on who’s asking.” Knowing full well I don’t care who is asking. I’d talk to just about anyone right now, anyone that would listen.

“I’m Rebecca Sanford. I’m a reporter for the Prince William County Newspaper.”

I put up my hand, halting her from speaking any more. “My lawyer doesn’t want me talking to any reporters. Sorry.” I start to close the door.

She puts her foot in front of the door stopping me from closing it. “I know. Mr. Morgan, I’m just a big fan of your work, and I really want to get your side of the story.”

“You’ve read my work?”

She nods. “I actually took the class on fiction writing you taught at the community college over a year back.”