PART 3 The courthouse smelled like wet coats, old paper, and coffee that had been burned for too many hours.

Savannah lowered her gaze as cameras turned.

Margaret leaned close.

“You don’t owe them a face.”

Savannah nodded.

Then she looked up anyway.

Not for the reporters.

For her daughters.

One day, when they asked about this morning, she wanted to remember that she did not hide.

Bryce stood near the courtroom doors with his attorney, Martin Hale, and his mother,continue reading …