The trial started in two days.
I stood in my closet, staring at rows of clothes that suddenly felt wrong. Too soft. Too professional. Too much like the woman I used to be.
"You need armor," Harper said from my bedroom. She'd come over with coffee and moral support, understanding without being told that I was spiraling.
"I need to not throw up every time I think about sitting in that courtroom." I pulled out a black suit, held it up. "This?"
"Too funereal. You're not mourning. You're winning." Harper joined me in the closet. "What about the red one? The one you wore to that conference last year?"
"Too aggressive."
"Vi, you're about to destroy your ex-husband in court. Aggressive is the point."
I laughed despite everything. "Fair."
But the red suit felt wrong too. Everything felt wro
