Judge Callaghan raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the young girl’s unexpected appearance and bold statement. The courtroom’s murmurs subsided as all eyes turned to the small figure standing at the center of the room. Hope held up a folder, its edges worn, as if it had been handled many times. Her tiny hands struggled to keep it upright, but her resolve was unwavering.
“What do you have there, young lady?” Judge Callaghan asked, his voice softer than usual, perhaps swayed by the child’s courage.
Hope took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. “This folder has letters and notes,” she began, “from people my dad helped, people who know he’s a good man. I found them in a box in our attic.” Her eyes scanned the room, seeking understanding. “He fixes cars, yes, but he also fixes other things—like people’s days when they’re bad.”
