As I reach the door, I suck in air to balance the rushing feeling of blood pumping through my body. I’ve learned over time that you have to control yourself in a courtroom. But this one will be like none we’ve faced before. Instead of a row for the jury, it’ll be the judges lined up in two rows. We’ve all been warned not to let it intimidate us. That our focus should be on Daddy. On Judge Vandyne. Jamal, Corinne, and Mama go before me. I wave them ahead as they’re cleared to enter. I need a moment. I’ve dreamed of this day, and I don’t want to forget a second of it.

Once I’m settled, I partially open the left door and slide into the courtroom.

Tasha and her family are seated on the defense side, right behind our row. Daddy Greg’s arms are around Tasha and Monica.

The courtroom is packed. I show my wristband to indicate I’ve got a seat reserved. Near the front of the courtroom, I see the people closest to Daddy’s trial: my family, the Evanses, Mrs. Ridges and Quincy, even Sheriff Brighton and Officer Clyde. It warms my heart to see our community members seated like a shield of protection, with the church members led by Pastor Jenkins and the community center regulars that Dr. Scott gathered. This time we’re not leaving without justice. You can smell it in the air.

This time will be different.

Judge Vandyne’s glasses hang at the tip of his nose; he’s focused on the papers in front of him, not on the eight other judges. He barely looks up at the prosecution or the defense. The courtroom is silent when the side door opens.

Daddy. Not in a white jumper, but in a suit.

Two correction officers at his side, but this time no cuffs. They joke with him, maybe trying to get him to relax, but Daddy is stone-cold serious. His eyes searching for his family. I can see him scanning for me. I slip into the front row behind the defense, where Quincy joins me at the end of the row.

I make sure Daddy knows I’m here before he’s seated. He’s got his long, dark fingers wrapped together to keep from shaking. Stephen Jones Sr. greets him; they shake hands. I watch Daddy glance back every few moments at Mama, then us. He finally lets a smile peek out when Mama mouths, Don’t look so guilty.

The bailiff calls us to rise. It’s starting.

My eyes begin to well as I think about how much time we’ve lost with Daddy. I look back out to the courtroom. Dean catches my eye and he mouths, You got this. I smile. Our friendship took a hit, but we’re strong. Something in me knows it will be able to survive.