Lydia stood just behind Ivan, her body shaking, her hands pressed against the folds of her gown as if holding herself together. The courtroom seemed distant. All she could hear was the thunder of that night, the pounding of the rain against her window, the memory of the storm that had come when her baby had died. Every flash of lightning, every echoing clap of thunder returned her to that moment. Her chest tightened, her heart ached, and her eyes were already wet.
Ivan turned slightly, just enough to glance at her. His sharp gaze softened instantly when he saw her trembling. Her lips were pressed tight, her chin quivering, and her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. He could feel her fear, her sorrow, and a deep pang of anger rose in him. How could they accuse her of anything, when she had endured so much?
