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The day of the pre-trial arrived, and we were ready. As ready as we could be.

We'd already known the results of the paternity test—it wasn't a surprise anymore. The court had confirmed it over the phone earlier in the week. Trevor Matthews was the father.

Obviously.

Mom sat beside me, her hand resting gently over mine. My lawyer had her notes stacked neatly in a folder. Across the aisle, Ms. Kessler, the county prosecutor, met our eyes and gave a nod that meant: We've got this.

Trevor sat at the defense table in an orange jumpsuit, his wrists cuffed. He kept his head down, jaw tight, face pale and unreadable. I didn't care. Let him look ashamed. Let him rot in that seat for all I cared.

But what struck me even harder was the quiet couple seated behind the prosecution's table.

A man and woman—mid-thirties, maybe. The woman clutched a tissue, eyes red-rimmed but dry. The man sat stiffly beside her, arms crossed tight, like he was holding himself together with sheer will.

They were the parents of the six-year-old.

The other victim.

Their pain filled the room even before they said a word.

The judge entered, and the courtroom rose. After we were seated again, the hearing officially began.

"This pre-trial hearing is being held to establish admissibility of key evidence and prepare for jury selection," the judge announced.

Mom's fingers squeezed mine a little tighter. Across the aisle, the woman behind the prosecutor blinked hard, her grip on her tissue tightening.

The judge continued. "We will also be consolidating evidence for both active cases—one involving the fourteen-year-old victim and the second, a separate charge regarding inappropriate contact with a six-year-old minor. The prosecution will proceed accordingly."

Trevor didn't even flinch.

But I noticed the twitch in his lawyer's jaw. And I noticed how the father behind me sat forward ever so slightly, like he had to physically stop himself from standing.

Trevor's attorney stood and tried to argue that prior bullying claims had no bearing on the case.

But Ms. Kessler didn't hesitate.

"Your Honor, the defendant has a documented pattern of harassment specifically targeting the victim's gender identity. This was not an isolated incident. It was a calculated campaign of intimidation that escalated into the assault in question. We intend to demonstrate how this sustained behavior directly influenced the events that followed—and how, disturbingly, that behavior has since extended to a second, younger victim."

The courtroom went still.

Every word landed with weight, the tension tightening like a rope being pulled too far.

The judge nodded slowly. "The court will allow limited testimony on the defendant's prior conduct as it pertains to establishing motive and state of mind. Additionally, given the similarities in the two cases, both charges will be tried together, before the same jury."

That was when Trevor finally looked up.

His eyes met mine for just a second.

But this time, I didn't look away.

I didn't blink.

I wasn't afraid of him anymore—and he knew it.

The judge moved on to outline the next steps: jury selection, pretrial motions, timelines for witness prep.

I tried to keep listening.

But my attention snapped back as Ms. Kessler stood to deliver a brief summary of the case for the record.

Her voice was calm. Clear. Unshakable.

"The evidence will show that the defendant, Trevor Matthews, systematically targeted the victim—verbally, emotionally, and eventually physically. That he exploited her vulnerability, sought to isolate her, and when confronted with the consequences, made efforts to silence her. His behavior shows not only a pattern of abuse, but a complete lack of remorse. And that pattern did not stop with the victim—he has since harmed another child."

That was the moment Trevor lost it.

He shoved himself to his feet, the cuffs on his wrists clinking loud in the silent room.

"She's lying!" he shouted, voice cracking. "I didn't do anything! This is all some messed-up setup! She wanted it!"

Gasps rippled through the courtroom.

The judge slammed his gavel down hard. "Mr. Matthews, sit down immediately or you will be held in contempt!"

But Trevor wasn't listening.

He turned toward me, eyes wild. "You ruined my life! You hear me?! This is all your fault! You—"

The bailiff was already moving.

Two officers flanked Trevor in seconds, grabbing his arms and forcing him back down. But he resisted, thrashing against their grip.

"I'm not going down for this!" he barked. "You think you can do this to me?! I'll make you pay for this—"

"Enough!" the judge roared. "Remove the defendant from the courtroom. Now."

Trevor kept struggling as they dragged him toward the side door. The handcuffs weren't just clinking anymore—they were rattling violently as he tried to wrench himself free.

His face was red, contorted with rage. He looked less like a teenager and more like someone completely unhinged.

The officers forced him through the door. It slammed behind them with a heavy echo that seemed to shake the room.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then the judge cleared his throat and straightened his robes. "Let the record show that due to his outburst and threats, the defendant is being remanded to solitary holding until trial. Court will reconvene next week as scheduled."

He paused.

"And to the victims and their families—my deepest apologies for what you just witnessed."

I could barely hear the closing statements.

My ears were still ringing.

Trevor's voice still echoed in my head.

But when I looked to my side—at Mom, at the prosecutor, at the parents behind me—I knew one thing for sure:

He might be loud.

He might be angry.

But he wasn't in control anymore.

The courtroom doors swung open as we stepped into the hallway, the tension still clinging to my skin like sweat. My hands were shaking. Not from fear—at least not entirely. It was adrenaline. Shock. Relief. All tangled together.

Mom was right beside me, one hand protectively on my back. "You did good in there," she said softly.

I didn't feel like I did anything at all.

Jasmine and Mia were already waiting outside the courtroom. Lexi had come too—standing just off to the side, arms crossed tightly but her expression fierce.

"Holy crap," Jasmine whispered. "That was... intense."

"Are you okay?" Mia asked, stepping closer.

I nodded, but it felt mechanical.

Then Lexi spoke. "I've never seen him like that before. He looked... unhinged."

"Because he is," Jasmine muttered. "He just proved everything you've been saying."

Lily jogged up, her face pale but curious. "Why'd they yell like that in there? What happened?"

I glanced at Mom, unsure how much to say, but Lily was already looking to Jasmine for answers.

"He freaked out because he knows he's losing," Jasmine told her gently. "He can't control anything anymore, so he's throwing a tantrum."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Like when Sam doesn't get the last cookie?"

I smirked despite myself. "Yeah... but with more handcuffs."

That earned a chorus of nervous laughter.

We all stood there for a moment, just catching our breath, listening to the murmurs of others leaving the courtroom. Behind us, the guards were still escorting Trevor out another door, his shouts muffled now.

I felt the weight in my chest slowly easing. Not gone. Not forgotten. But a little lighter.

Mom glanced at her phone. "Let's get you home, sweetheart. The next hearing isn't for a few days. You've been through enough for one day."

I nodded again. And this time... I meant it.

We were halfway down the courthouse steps when Dad spoke up from the driver's seat, leaning out the window.

"How about we don't go home yet?"

We all paused.

"I was thinking..." he said, glancing at Mom, then at me. "Buffet?"

Lily gasped. "BUFFET?! Yes! Can we go to that place with the chocolate fountain?"

Sam raised a brow. "Only if they have pizza and chicken nuggets."

Jasmine looked at me, like she was checking in. "You up for it?"

I nodded. "Honestly? I could eat... something weird."

And I meant that.

We ended up at Golden Spoon Family Buffet—a place that smelled like five different countries and three different holidays, all at once. It was exactly what we needed.

While everyone scattered to grab their favorites, I made a straight line for the fish sticks.

And the custard.

Yep.

Fish sticks and custard.

I balanced the tray carefully and found a spot at a booth while the others filled their plates. Mom walked by, paused when she saw what I was eating, and shook her head. "I blame British TV for this."

I grinned. "The Doctor would be proud."

Sam plopped into the seat across from me, looking betrayed.

"No pizza. No nuggets. Just... this." He pushed his tray forward, revealing steamed carrots, something suspiciously beige, and one lonely bread roll.

I blinked at his plate. Then grinned.

"Aww, no pizza and nuggets?" I said sweetly. "Guess the buffet betrayed you, huh?"

He narrowed his eyes at my fish stick. "You're eating dessert sauce with seafood."

I dipped it again in the custard, completely unfazed. "Excuse you, this is a perfectly valid meal. The Doctor eats it."

Sam blinked. "Doctor who?"

"Exactly," I said, grinning.

"No, I mean—which doctor?"

"The Doctor."

Sam squinted. "Okay, so you're saying a doctor told you to eat that?"

"No," I said. "Not a doctor. The Doctor."

"What doctor?"

"Doctor Who!"

Sam threw his hands up. "That's what I'm asking you!"

"And that's what I'm telling you!"

Lily giggled from across the table. "It's a TV show, Sam."

Sam looked betrayed. "Wait—you're telling me this whole time you were quoting a TV show?"

"Yes!" I said, beaming. "About a brilliant time-traveling alien who saves the universe and eats fish sticks and custard."

He groaned and slumped in his seat. "I miss when you just ate ketchup on weird stuff."

Lily leaned in with her mouth full. "When I grow up, I wanna marry The Doctor."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're nine. You also wanted to marry a chicken nugget last week."

"Because chicken nuggets don't yell at me when I steal the remote," Lily snapped back, sass in full force.

"Okay, fair," Sam muttered, reaching for another roll.

I smiled and patted my stomach. "Baby, I promise you—someday you'll watch every episode of Doctor Who. And love it."

Sam mumbled, "As long as you don't feed them custard fish."

Lily shrugged. "Better than the time you ate Cheez-Its and orange juice together."

"THAT WAS ONE TIME!"

The whole table cracked up, and for a few minutes, we weren't thinking about trials, court dates, or anything heavy.

Just fish sticks and pudding, jello, and time-traveling aliens.

Later that night, I was curled up on the couch in the living room, the house quiet except for the soft hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen. A blanket was draped over my legs, and I was halfway through my book, finally starting to relax.

Then—
CRASH.

Glass shattered, and a heavy thud hit the floor just feet from where I sat.

I screamed and jumped back, the book falling from my hands.

Mom came running from the hallway, barefoot and wild-eyed. "Emily?! What was that?!"

"A—A brick," I stammered, heart pounding. "Someone threw a brick through the window!"

Dad was already rushing in behind her, flipping on the porch light and peering out the front door.

The brick sat in the middle of the living room floor surrounded by shards of glass and a trail of leaves from the wind. Wrapped around it was a rubber band... and a piece of paper.

Mom carefully approached, grabbing the paper while Dad stepped outside, checking the street.

She unfolded the note, her eyes narrowing.

I watched her face, trying to read what it said—but her silence scared me more than anything.

"What does it say?" I whispered.

She looked up slowly. "It says... 'YOU THINK THIS IS OVER? YOU'RE WRONG.'"

My stomach dropped.

Sam and Lily, now peeking out from the hallway, stood frozen.

Dad stepped back inside. "No sign of anyone. But the neighbors probably heard it—we need to call the police. Now."

Mom nodded. "Get your shoes. Emily, are you okay? Did any glass hit you?"

"I—I'm fine," I said, even though my hands were shaking. "But who... who would do this?"

We all knew the answer.

No one said it out loud.

But we knew.

Trevor might've been behind bars...
But someone else out there still wanted to scare me.

And they were getting bolder.