no savior.

Charlie's mother approaches me, and I force my eyes to meet hers. The hair on my arms stands up, my flight or fight response triggering. I focus on my breathing, trying to radiate the scraps of confidence I actually have.

"Ms. Michaels?" she says my name slowly, rolling it over her lips, "But not Dr. Michaels?"

"Objection!" Andrew jumps up, "Badgering."

"Sustained," the judge says, "Ms. Young, I'm being lenient since you are representing yourself but only to a point."

"Understood your honor," she says, "Withdrawn. You work with teens a lot?" she asks.

I nod, "Yes."

"I'm sure you relate to them a lot," she smirks, "You're really nothing but a kid yourself aren't you?"

"Objection!"

"Ms. Young!"

"Withdrawn," she starts again, "So you work with teens. Have you ever had one that lied to you?"

"About abuse and assault? No," I reply honestly, "The kids I work with are fairly forthcoming and open with me."

"Oh so my daughter told you about her alleged sexual assault?"

"Objection!" Andrew calls out, "Please refer to Ms. Charlotte as such."

"My bad," she rolls her eyes, "So Ms. Charlotte,  told you about her alleged sexual assault?"

"No, but she has all the signs of trauma---"

"But she's never told you if that trauma stems from me?" she cuts me off.

"Well she's nonverbal so---"

"So no?"

"No she has not verbally told me that she was sexually abused," I clench my teeth, hating how much of a caveat this is, "But---"

"Nothing further," she takes her seat.

"Redirect your honor?" Andrew asks.

The judge nods, "Granted."

"Do you believe that Charolette has shown PTSD symptons synonymous with abuse?"

"Yes."

"Nothing further."

I quickly exit the stand, relieved. I rush to the bathroom, retching into the toilet. I stand, rinsing out my mouth and heading back. When I come back into the court room, a man is on the stand. He's young, maybe in his late thirties. His dirty blond hair is swept back and his beard is trimmed. He's handsome, with kind eyes.

"What is your relationship with the defendant ?" Andrew asks.

"I lived across the street from her. Our daughters went to school together," he responds, "We had coffee sometimes. She was a single mom. I was a single dad. We traded parenting tips."

"Did you ever interact with the defendant and her daughter together?"

"Occasionally, Charlotte would come over after school and Ms. Young would come and get her for dinner."

"And how did their interactions seem?"

"A little tense," he admits, "Charlie--- Ms. Charlotte wasn't exactly happy to leave with her mother. It was almost like she was happier at our house than her own."

"Nothing further," Andrew steps away and Charlie's mother takes his place on the floor.

"Our daughters spent time together, we had coffee together. One would possibly call that a friendship," she pauses, "So would you consider yourself my friend, Mr. Harris?"