The day of the trial arrives without ceremony, which somehow makes it worse, because there’s no dramatic build or warning bell, just the quiet understanding that there’s no more putting it off, and that whatever I say today will exist in the open where it can’t be taken back. I wake early and shower longer than necessary, letting the hot water run over my shoulders while I brace myself, going through the motions of washing my hair and brushing my teeth like routine might anchor me when everything else feels unsteady.
Axel and Atticus are already dressed when I come out of the bathroom, both of them too quiet, and that alone tells me how seriously they’re taking this, because they aren’t trying to distract me or soften anything. We eat breakfast together even though none of us really touch
