The cross-examination lasts three hours.
Three hours of Ethan's lawyer, a sharp-faced woman named Katherine Brennan, trying to twist every word I say into a lie. Three hours of showing the jury those photos from every angle, asking the same questions different ways, implying that my testimony about Ethan's affairs is projection because I'm the real cheater.
But I don't break. Don't cry. Don't let her see me sweat.
I explain, calmly, that Daniel Reeves is a client. That we met once for a business consultation. That the photos were taken out of context, that the touching was him reaching for the contract I'd brought, that the leaning in was because trucks were passing and we could barely hear each other.
Katherine doesn't believe me. Or pretends not to. The jury's faces are unreadable.
