Page 28 of Truck Hard

“Mom?” Cam’s voice pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. “You’re squeezing too hard.”

I loosen my grip on his hand immediately, guilt washing over me. “Sorry, sweetie.” My voice comes out shakier than I’d like. “You sure you want to be here? You could still wait outside in—”

“I’m not leaving you.” His jaw sets in that stubborn way that reminds me so much of Liam. The same determination, the same protective instinct. “I’m staying.”

He’s twelve. I remind myself. Too young to shoulder this burden. Too young to stand as a shield between his mother and the monster who raised him.

But when I look at him—really look at him—I see more than just a child. I see the young man he’s becoming, forged in the crucible of our shared trauma. The way he stands tall despite his fear, chin lifted in defiance of the shadows that have haunted us for so long.

I’ve failed him in so many ways.

The thought burns in my chest as we make our way through security—metal detector, bag check, the guard’s sympathetic smile as he waves us through. Everyone knows why we’re here. In a county this small, secrets don’t stay secret for long.

The waiting room is already crowded when we arrive. Other families, other battles being fought. A woman rocks a crying baby while her lawyer reviews papers. An elderly couple sits hand in hand, worry etched deep in their faces. The air feels thick with anxiety and desperation.

“This way, Mrs. Fisher.” James Reynolds, my lawyer, appears at my elbow. He’s wearing his best suit, the one that probably costs more than I make in a month at Frank’s. “Judge Matthews likes to start promptly at nine.”

I follow him down the corridor, Cam’s footsteps echoing behind mine. The walls seem to close in with each step, memories pressing against my skull like a vice. Charlie’s voice, his hands, his rage.

No. Not today. Today I take my life back.

We turn a corner and my breath catches. There he is. Liam. Standing near the courtroom doors in a suit that looks like it hasn’t seen much use, his dark hair slightly disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it. Our eyes meet across the space between us, and something in my chest constricts.

He didn’t have to come. I didn’t ask him to, didn’t even tell him about the hearing. But here he is, solid and real andpresentin a way that makes my heart skip a few beats.

“Mrs. Fisher?” James touches my elbow gently. “We should go in.”

I nod, unable to trust my voice. But as we pass Liam, his hand brushes mine—the briefest touch, gone before I can react. Just enough to sayI’m here.

The courtroom feels impossibly large and suffocatingly small at the same time. Wooden benches stretch out behind us, most already filled with spectators. More than I expected. More than I wanted.

My eyes land on Charlie’s parents. Of course they’d come. They’d never miss a chance to put me in my place. His dad looks at me with a sneer, and his mom’s expression is one of disgust. She always hated me.

“Remember what we discussed,” James murmurs as we take our seats. “Just tell the truth. Let me handle any objections.”

I barely hear him. My attention is fixed on the empty chair where Charlie will sit. Any minute now, they’ll bring him in. Any minute now, I’ll have to look into those eyes again.

Cam’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently. When I glance at him, he tries to smile. “It’s okay, Mom. I won’t let him hurt you anymore.”

The words shatter something inside me and my eyes well up with tears I can barely contain. Because it should be the other way around. I should be protectinghim. I’m his mother—it’s my job to keep him safe. Instead, I let Charlie hurt us both for far too long.

I’m sorry. I want to tell him.I’m so sorry I wasn’t stronger.

But before I can speak, the bailiff’s voice rings out. “All rise for the Honorable Judge Matthews.”

We stand as the judge enters, a stern-faced woman with steel-gray hair and sharp eyes. She takes her seat, surveys the courtroom, and nods once.

“Be seated.”

The sound of rustling clothes and creaking benches fills the air as everyone sits. Behind me, I hear whispers—familiar voices discussing unfamiliar things. My name. Charlie’s name. Speculation about what really happened behind closed doors all those years.

And then another voice cuts through the murmurs. “Bring in the defendant.”

The door opens, and Charlie enters.

He looks... smaller somehow, despite the expensive suit. His confident swagger is gone, replaced by chains that rattle with each step. But his eyes—God, his eyes are the same. Cold. Calculating. Full of barely contained rage.

Those eyes find mine across the courtroom, and thirteen years of fear crash over me like a wave. My hands start to shake. My chest tightens. The room spins slightly.

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