They played off each other perfectly, even using Chloe as a prop, casting themselves as the victims.
And me? I became the unforgivable monster.
My lawyer fought tooth and nail, presenting evidence piece by piece, but the other side dismantled every argument. They'd bought off witnesses, fabricated proof, and sewn every last stitch into a seamless lie.
The judge looked at me, her voice grave. "Defendant Martha Pruitt, are the plaintiff's claims true? Do you have any objections?"
I lifted my gaze toward the plaintiff's bench.
A cold smile curved my lips. I didn't answer. I just stared at them.
Stella squirmed under my gaze and shrank behind Miles, whispering, "Your Honor, look at her. That look on her face proves she's guilty!"
Miles frowned. "Your Honor, she has nothing to say because the facts speak for themselves!"
That was when the courtroom doors swung open.
A clear, bright child's voice shattered the silence. "That's not true! She's lying!"
Every head turned toward the entrance.
A little girl walked in, her hand clasped in a middle-aged man's.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Her face bore a startling resemblance to mine, like a mirror reflecting me as a child. The man beside her looked familiar too, but my mind spun and couldn't place him.
Miles's expression changed the instant he heard her voice. Stella went rigid, a flash of panic darting through her eyes.
"Who are you? Who let you in here?" Miles barked, his voice sharp enough to cut, trying to mask the fear bleeding through.
The little girl pulled free of the man's hand and walked to the center of the courtroom. She looked up at the judge.
"Ma'am, my name is Sylvia Pruitt. I'm here to testify. They're lying!"
"You're making things up!" Stella screamed, her voice cracking with hysteria. "She's a child! Who's going to believe a word she says?"
"My words count," the little girl said. "And so does this."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small USB drive, holding it up to the judge.
"On here, there are recordings of you talking with the bad man, proof that you bribed a nurse to swap the babies, and a recording of you putting drugs in my mom's medicine. All of it is real!"
A bailiff took the drive and played it for the court.
The first thing that appeared was a high-definition video. On screen, two figures held each other close.
"Once I get my hands on all the Pruitt assets, I'll divorce Martha immediately. Leave her with nothing."
"Mm. It was always supposed to be ours."
Then came the transfer records, the conversations about swapping the babies, the audio of the poisoning, the conspiracy to strip the Pruitt empire, the plot to kill Alice. And then, in unflinching clarity, footage of Stella driving a blade into Alice's chest.
Every piece of evidence detonated like a bomb in that courtroom.
The proof was overwhelming. Irrefutable. Absolute.
I stared at it all, then at the little girl whose eyes looked so much like mine, and my vision blurred.
Seven years.
I had waited seven years for her.
And she was finally here.
The little girl turned around. She looked at me, then walked toward me, one small step at a time.
She tilted her face up, tears pooling in her eyes but refusing to fall. Her voice was soft and steady, ringing through the silent courtroom with perfect clarity.
"Mom."
