I love you too, Mommy.”
Nala undid the hug slowly. It was then she saw it again. The corner of the old cracked tablet was sticking out from under Zarya’s pillow. Zarya was clutching it tightly, even while sleeping.
Nala couldn’t understand why Zarya was so obsessed with that broken object. But that night she was too destroyed to think deeper about it. She simply kissed her daughter on the forehead and left to face the end of her world.
The courtroom was colder than usual. The morning air was heavy and suffocating.
Nala sat rigidly in her chair, eyes puffy and empty. She hadn’t slept all night.
Beside her, Abernathy stared ahead with a somber expression. He knew he had done everything possible, but like Nala, they faced a giant wall.
The atmosphere on the opposite side of the room was very different. He looked fresh and confident in a new suit. He smiled occasionally and exchanged quiet jokes with Cromwell. Victory was before his eyes.
In the gallery, Nala saw Valencia. The woman was seated elegantly dressed in a cream-colored dress, looking at Nala with a barely visible smile—the smile of the victor.
The judge entered. The room fell silent instantly.
Nala’s heart beat so hard it hurt.
“In the matter of the divorce petition, registry number, family court case number…” The judge began formally. “Today’s subject is the reading of the verdict, but before that, I request both parties present their closing arguments.”
Cromwell stood up first. He summarized his victory skillfully.
“Your Honor,” he said loudly, “during this trial, we have seen irrefutable evidence. The photographic proof showing Mrs. Nala’s neglect of household tasks. The financial proof showing her irresponsibility. And most importantly, the testimony of the eminent child psychologist, Dr. Valencia, who objectively and scientifically presented the defendant’s emotional instability.”
He pointed to Nala.
“We even witnessed Mrs. Nala’s hysterical conduct in this courtroom during the last trial, which supports Dr. Valencia’s diagnosis and is clearly recorded.”
He turned toward Tummaine.
“On the other hand, we have Mr. Tummaine—a capable father, financially successful, and above all, emotionally stable and genuinely concerned for his daughter’s future. Your Honor, the choice here is very clear. It is not about punishing the wife, but about saving the child. For Zarya’s best interest, I beg you to grant full custody to our client, Mr. Tummaine, and approve his request for division of assets.”
Cromwell sat down with a smug smile.
Now it was Abernathy’s turn. He stood up slowly, looked around the room without looking at the judge.
“Your Honor,” began Abernathy with a soft but firm voice, “what we have witnessed here is not proof. It is character assassination, a very well-planned defamation. Photos can lie. One can take a photo of the best chef’s kitchen in the world at the wrong moment and make it look dirty. Statements can be manipulated, especially when one party has total financial control and the trust of the other. And the expert testimony? The testimony of an expert who only observed from a distance and drew radical conclusions from a few fragments of incidents out of context—is that stronger than the deep maternal love a mother has accumulated over seven years?”
He looked directly at Tummaine.
“Your Honor, we are not saving a girl. We are witnessing a greedy husband try to get rid of his wife, steal her assets, and cruelly take away the only thing that is most precious to her—her daughter.
“Nala is a good mother,” his voice trembled slightly with emotion. “She is not perfect. No mother is. But she has dedicated her life to Zarya. Do not allow this well-woven defamation to destroy that bond. I beg you to judge with conscience.”
Abernathy sat down.
The room was silent. His argument had been excellent, emotional. But Nala knew it wasn’t enough. His argument was based on belief. Cromwell’s argument was based on physical evidence and expert testimony.
In the eyes of the law, the winner was already obvious.
The judge cleared his throat, put on his glasses, and opened a thick file in front of him. This was the moment.
“Having reviewed all documents from both parties, heard all testimonies, and considered all evidence presented,” the judge began with an expressionless tone.
Nala’s heart shrank.
“The court notes that the plaintiff, Mr. Tummaine, has been successful in presenting significant evidence,” the judge continued.
She lowered her head and closed her eyes.
“First, the visual evidence, that is, the photographs, demonstrated the negligence of the defendant, Mrs. Nala, in household management. Second, the financial evidence demonstrated a considerable spending imbalance on the credit card in the defendant’s name.”
Every sentence was a knife cut.
“And most damaging,” said the judge, his voice sounding definitive, “is the testimony of the expert witness, Dr. Valencia. Regarding Mrs. Nala’s emotional state. This testimony was unfortunately reinforced by the defendant’s own conduct in the last trial, providing the court with a very troubling image of the psychological environment for the child’s growth.”
Nala began to cry silently. It was over.
He looked at her and a slight cruel smile of victory appeared at the corner of his mouth. Behind him, Valencia sat up straighter in her seat, ready to applaud.
“With all considerations mentioned above, and especially for the best interest and mental health of the minor Zarya, the court rules—”
“Stop.”
The voice was small, but it cut through the silence of the courtroom. It was sharp and clear.
Everyone turned their heads in unison toward the source of the voice.
In the slightly open door at the back of the room stood Zarya.
She was alone, still in her school uniform. Obviously, she had snuck in.
His face went from arrogance to shock and horror.
“Zarya, what are you doing here? Get out of here!” he shouted in panic.
“Guard! Zarya! Sit down, princess!” he tried again with a tense voice.
But Zarya didn’t move. She walked into the courtroom. The sound of her small steps echoed on the marble floor.
“Zarya,” Daddy said, “turn around and sit down!” he shouted again, now half-standing.
His lawyer, Cromwell, was also bewildered. He stood up and shouted at the judge.
“Your Honor, this is a procedural outrage. This trial is confidential. A minor should not be here and should not interrupt the proceeding. Order your staff to remove the child!”
Nala was still frozen. She was confused. A part of her mind was shattering over the fact that Zarya was in this horrible place. The other part trembled with fear.
What was Zarya going to say? Had he succeeded in poisoning her completely? Would Zarya tell the judge she preferred her father?
The thought made Nala nauseous.
“Your Honor, out of consideration…” Abernathy’s voice rang out suddenly, stopping Cromwell. “This child has come with an obvious purpose. This is about her future. We cannot ignore her.”
The judge raised his hand. His face was grave.
“Silence, everyone.” His voice echoed.
He stared at Tummaine and Cromwell, silencing their protests. Then his gaze turned to Zarya. His expression softened.
Zarya approached slowly, her small steps echoing loudly on the silent marble. She stopped in the center between the tables of the two lawyers. She looked directly at the judge sitting on his high throne.
“Your Honor,” Zarya said with a trembling voice but clear to the whole room, “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“It’s okay, princess,” said the judge with a more paternal tone. “Why are you here? Who brought you?”
“I came alone. My auntie brought me, but I snuck in. I heard my Daddy say my Mommy is bad.”
His eyes went wide.
“Zarya, watch your words!”
“Silence, Mr. Tummaine,” shouted the judge. “Let the child speak.”
Nala covered her mouth. Tears began to flow.
Zarya swallowed as if gathering courage. She looked at the judge again. Her pure, clear eyes showed sincerity.
“Daddy said my Mommy is bad. Daddy said my Mommy gets very angry. Daddy said my Mommy can’t take care of me,” she continued, her voice shaking slightly.
Nala_closed her eyes. This was the end. Zarya was going to repeat all of his lies.
But the next sentence made Nala open her eyes.
“But… can I show you something?” Zarya looked at the judge with pleading eyes. “Something my Mommy doesn’t know.”
That phrase hung in the air.
Something my Mommy doesn’t know.
Nala frowned. What did she mean?
Zarya turned and reached into her school backpack. From inside, she pulled out the old cracked tablet—the same one Nala had seen under the pillow.
“I recorded something. I want to show you, Your Honor.”
“This is absurd,” Cromwell jumped up again. “A recording from a child cannot be used as evidence. This is an invasion of privacy, recorded without permission.”
“That recording proves the lies of your expert witness, attorney Cromwell,” retorted Abernathy sharply. “This is very intriguing.”
“Enough arguing.” The judge banged his gavel. His eyes, previously paternal, now shone intensely. He sensed there was a big lie.
“Clerk, help this child. Connect that device to the court monitors right now.”
“No!” screamed Tummaine desperately. He gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles.
“I object, Your Honor. This is a setup!”
“Your objection is noted, Mr. Tummaine. Now, sit down,” ordered the judge.
A clerk approached Zarya quickly and carefully took the cracked tablet. He looked for a cable, and moments later, the large monitor screens on the courtroom wall went black and then showed Zarya’s tablet home screen.
He covered his face. Valencia behind him seemed to shake violently.
Zarya, now standing next to the clerk, looked at the screen. She didn’t look at Nala or her father. She was focused on her mission.
“This one,” she pointed to a video file in the gallery.
The clerk clicked on it. A video thumbnail appeared.
“Go ahead, princess,” said the judge. “Play the video.”
Zarya stretched out her small index finger. She pressed the play button on the screen.
The video started.
The large monitor screen flickered. The shot was slightly shaky and tilted. The angle was low, as if recorded from behind something. A quiet laugh was heard.
“It’s our living room,” whispered Nala, recognizing the sofa and the large plant pot in the corner of the room.
The video seemed to have been taken from behind that pot where Zarya often hid while playing hide-and-seek.
And then two figures entered the recorded shot.
Tummaine and Valencia.
Not Valencia in the professional blazer like in court, but Valencia in fine, comfortable loungewear. Her hair was down.
He entered laughing and immediately hugged Valencia from behind, kissing her on the neck.
“Oh my god,” a muffled exclamation was heard throughout the room in unison.
Nala froze with her breath caught in her throat.
So the perfume, her suspicions, everything was true. The woman who gave false testimony to ruin her was the same one sleeping with her husband in her house.
On the other side, Cromwell stared at the monitor with his mouth open. He turned to his client with a look of horror—as if saying, “You never told me this.”
In the gallery, Valencia lowered her head, trying to hide her face.
And then the voices of the figures in the video were heard clearly in the silence of the courtroom.
Valencia’s voice:
“Are you sure your plan will work? Your wife is so stupid.”
His voice laughed with certainty.
“Stupid and submissive. She won’t suspect anything. All the money has already been transferred to your account, baby.”
“Are you sure?”
Nala felt her legs fail. Her money, her joint account, had been transferred to Valencia’s account.
“Oh, God,” murmured Abernathy beside her, his eyes fixed on the screen.
The video continued. He sat on the sofa and pulled Valencia onto his lap.
His voice:
“Once the verdict comes out tomorrow, I will officially get custody of Zarya. We will sell this house from hell immediately and move to Switzerland, far away from her.”
Valencia’s voice, coquettish:
“And Zarya seems very attached to her mother.”
This was the part that hurt Nala the most. She held her breath waiting for his answer.
His voice, disdainful:
“Oh, the kid is easy to handle. Just give her a new tablet and she’ll forget her mother. You will be her new mother. A smarter, more successful, and much sexier mother.”
He kissed Valencia passionately in the video.
“Enough! Turn it off!” screamed Tummaine in rage.
He jumped from his chair, trying to run toward the clerk’s table to stop the video.
“Officers, restrain him!” shouted the judge with anger.
The two security guards guarding the door moved immediately. They overpowered him before he could advance, bending his arms behind his back.
He twisted like an animal in a trap.
“Let me go! It’s not true! It’s manipulated!” he screamed desperately.
“Silence him,” ordered the judge. “Continue the video. I want to see it to the end.”
The video continued playing, oblivious to the chaos in the room.
Now it was Valencia’s turn to speak.
Valencia’s voice:
“I’m still a little worried. What about my testimony as a psychologist? What if Nala’s lawyer refutes it with his observations?”
His voice, laughing again:
“I already prepared. I recorded her last week when she cried hysterically. Remember? I will provoke her again at the trial. I will insult her until she explodes. She will scream and cry in front of the judge.”
Nala sobbed. She remembered her testimony, the photo, her screams.
He had set her up.
His voice:
“Once she gets hysterical, your testimony will seem perfect. The judge will see for himself that she is an unstable, crazy woman. No one will believe her. They will believe Dr. Valencia—the professional.”
The video finally showed the two of them toasting with wine glasses, laughing.
The video ended.
The screen went black.
Het bleef een paar seconden stil in de kamer. Het enige geluid dat te horen was, was Nala’s snikken en zijn hijgende ademhaling, die onder controle van de bewakers was.
Iedereen in de zaal – de rechter, de griffiers, het publiek en zelfs Cromwell – staarde vol afschuw naar het zwarte scherm.
Ze waren net getuige geweest van een zeer goed geplande, kwaadaardige samenzwering. Fraude, meineed, witwassen van geld en manipulatie van de rechtbank.
In de galerij begonnen sommige mensen hun hoofd om te draaien, op zoek naar Valencia.
« Daar is ze! Het is de vrouw! » riep iemand.
Valencia besefte dat ze volledig onbeschermd was. In paniek sprong ze van haar stoel en rende naar de achteruitgang.
Zarya, het kleine heldinnetje dat net naar de video had gekeken, draaide haar hoofd om. Ze keek niet naar haar vader, die er ingetogen uitzag. Ze keek naar haar moeder. Haar pure ogen ontmoetten die van Nala, die vol tranen stonden.
De rechter, met een rood gezicht van woede, hief zijn hamer hoog op. Hij liet hem niet stilletjes vallen. Hij sloeg hem hard op de lessenaar.
“Stilte, iedereen! De zitting wordt hervat. Agenten, sluit alle uitgangen af. Niemand mag naar buiten. Arresteer die vrouw, dokter Valencia, onmiddellijk.”
De zaal verviel in gecontroleerde chaos. De dreun van de woedende rechtershamer was zowel een bevel als een ontlading van de spanning die iedereen had verlamd.
De twee bewakers die hem net hadden overmeesterd, sleepten hem nu naar een stoel. Hij schreeuwde niet meer. Hij hapte alleen nog naar adem. Zijn ogen waren paniekerig en zijn dure pak was doorweekt van het zweet.
Hij wist dat het voorbij was.
Bij de achterdeur ontstond opnieuw commotie. Valencia raakte in paniek en kreeg de grote deur, die de rechter zojuist had laten sluiten, niet open. Ze trok aan de klink en duwde tevergeefs. Een vrouwelijke agent greep snel in.
Valencia zakte in elkaar op de grond. Haar professionele masker was volledig afgevallen. Ze was niet langer de kalme en overtuigende psychologe. Ze was gewoon een bange vrouw die hysterisch huilde – precies het beeld dat ze in de foto’s had gebruikt om Nala erin te luizen.
Karma had te snel en wreed toegeslagen.
‘Breng haar hierheen,’ beval de rechter met een koude en onverzoenlijke stem.
De agenten sleepten de snikkende Valencia naar voren en zetten haar in de getuigenbank, die nu aanvoelde als de beklaagdenbank.
Aan de andere kant van de kamer zag Cromwell eruit als een smeltende wassen pop. Zijn gezicht was bleek en zijn stropdas scheef. Hij keek niet langer naar de rechter. Hij staarde naar de stapel papieren voor zich, zonder een antwoord te geven. Zijn carrière en reputatie waren in een oogwenk verwoest door een filmpje van een kapotte tablet van een kind.
Hij wist dat hij erbij betrokken was. Hij wist misschien niets van de affaire zelf, maar hij was wel op de hoogte van de gemanipuleerde foto’s en de getuigenissen die waren voorbereid om Nala erin te luizen.
Nala zelf zat nog steeds. Ze bekeek de scène voor haar ogen alsof het een film was. Haar snikken waren verstomd en vervangen door een verstijfde verbijstering.
Naast haar gaf Abernathy haar een zacht tikje op de rug, maar zijn ogen bleven gefixeerd op de rechter, klaar voor de genadeslag.
Zarya stond zwijgend naast de winkelbediende. Ze was de oase van rust te midden van de chaos. Ze keek alleen maar naar haar moeder, alsof ze wilde controleren of alles goed met haar ging.
De rechter haalde diep adem en streek zijn toga glad. Hij keek naar Tummaine, naar Valencia en vervolgens naar Cromwell.
‘Meneer Tummaine,’ begon de rechter met een zachte maar angstaanjagende stem, ‘die video is eigendom van uw dochter en is in uw eigen huis opgenomen. Wilt u nog steeds volhouden dat hij gemanipuleerd is?’
Hij hief zijn hoofd op, zijn gezicht uitdrukkingsloos.
‘Zij… zij heeft me erin geluisd,’ mompelde hij.
Het was een laatste, pathetische poging.
Valencia gilde meteen.
