My father’s shoulders caved.
The judge continued. “I am referring this matter to federal prosecutors. Whether you face criminal charges will depend on what investigators find. But if either of you contacts, harasses, threatens, sues, defames, or approaches Ms. Vale again without written legal authorization, I will consider it a continuation of this scheme.”
Patricia whispered, “She’s our daughter.”
“No,” the judge said. “She is an adult citizen whose rights you attempted to sell for square footage.”
That sentence landed harder than the gavel.
For thirty-four years, my parents had owned the story.
Cassidy was difficult.
Cassidy was cold.
Cassidy thought she was better than everyone.
Cassidy did not need as much as Brittany.
Cassidy could take care of herself.
Cassidy should sacrifice.
Cassidy should forgive.
Cassidy should understand.
Now a federal judge had rewritten the ending in public.
Court was adjourned.
The gallery emptied slowly.
People whispered as they passed.
