The whole courtroom seemed to hold its breath as Lily handed over the tablet. The judge leaned forward, curiosity and caution mingling in his expression, as he gestured for an officer to assist with the device. The room was silent except for the quiet tapping of keys as the officer connected the tablet to the courtroom’s display system.
As the screen flickered to life, the first image was of my living room, the place that had been the cozy center of our family life. The camera was shaky, Lily’s small hands evident in its movement, but the audio was clear. It captured the hushed, heated tones of an argument I hadn’t realized had grown so loud.
There was my husband, standing near the window, his voice low and insistent. He was on the phone, his words clipped and sharp. I could hear snippets—plans about moving money, about timing, about shutting me out of accounts I had never even known existed. It was a conversation that painted betrayal with every word, a discussion of calculated steps to ensure I was left with as little as possible.
