Diane’s trial began in spring.
The prosecutor played Dad’s video first.
My scream filled the courtroom.
Sophie, older now by only months but stronger, was not there.
I would not let Diane turn my daughter’s fear into an audience.
Diane’s lawyer claimed she had only raised the belt in defense.
Then the video showed the first strike.
Then the second.
Then Ryan blaming me.
Jurors looked sick.
I testified after lunch.
Diane stared at me the whole time.
The prosecutor asked what started the argument.
“I told Diane she could not control how I raised Sophie.”
“What did she do?”
“She picked up a belt.”
My voice shook.
I kept going.
“She hit me because I said no.”
Diane’s lawyer asked if I had ever spoken disrespectfully.
“Yes,” I said.
He smiled.
Then I added, “Disrespect is not a crime. Assault is.”
Someone in the back coughed to hide a laugh.
The financial evidence came next.
Bank transfers.
Receipts.
Messages.
Hidden letters.
Grandma Ruth’s inheritance.
Diane tried to look bored.
But when my grandmother’s letter was read aloud, her face changed.
A woman needs a door that opens outward.
I looked at Diane.
She had tried to lock every door.
My grandmother had built one anyway.
