Page 35 of Glass Wings

Easton’s parents are here.

Layla stands when she sees me, smoothing her blouse nervously, and Andy gives me a small, steady smile that almost undoes me right then and there. I didn’t realize how much I needed to see them until that moment. Without hesitation, his mom reaches for my hand.

“Sit with us, Harley,” she whispers, her eyes glassy. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Kennedy slips into the row behind without protest, and I find myself settling between them, Layla on my left and Andy on my right. For the first time in a long time, I feel less like I’m a girl showing up to defend the man she loves, and more like part of a family showing up together.

The air is still heavy, but with their shoulders pressing against mine, the weight is a little easier to bear.

The courthouse bench feels harder every time I sit on it. Maybe it’s my body changing, the extra weight pressing on my spine, or maybe it’s just that each hearing drains me in new ways. Leaving me feeling like nothing but skin and bones. I press a hand against the swell of my stomach, small but growing, and completely undeniable now to everyone in the room. I try to focus on breathing; nerves and stress aren’t good for the baby.

The bailiff calls everyone to rise, and Easton shuffles in, chains rattling. Tears prick at my eyes/ He looks tired, shadows deep under his eyes, hair too long, and shoulders rigid. But the second he finds me in the gallery, his face softens. Just for a heartbeat, all the steel falls away, and my chest aches with how much I miss him.

He insisted I didn’t come and visit him. Not while you’re carrying, he’d written. He didn’t want me in that place, didn’t want me walking through metal detectors and heavy doors with our baby inside me. Staying away is becoming harder every day, but I respect his wishes. Loving him means listening, even when it tears at me.

So I wait for these stolen moments instead. Wait to catch his eyes across a courtroom, and hold on to the flicker of love that passes between us, before duty pulls him back into chains.

The judge settles, gavel cracking once. “State versus Easton Ryder Diggs. Pre-trial conference.”

The prosecutor stands, spine straight and voice clipped. “Your Honor, the State reaffirms our position. The defendant assaulted the victim, causing significant injury. He has a prior record. We move forward to trial with confidence.”

Her words land like stones in my stomach. I wish her words didn’t affect me so much.

Rick rises, calm as ever while buttoning his jacket. “Your Honor, the defense disagrees. We’ve obtained witness information corroborating Ms. Starr, testimony that the complainant shoved Mr. Diggs first and was observed tampering with a drink. These statements call the prosecution’s narrative into question. Given this, we renew our request for bail reconsideration.”

I lean forward, clutching Layla’s hand. My pulse pounds.

The prosecutor shoots to her feet. “These alleged witnesses are unverified. Hearsay from bars and casual acquaintances. This is smoke and mirrors, Your Honor. The fact remains: the victim sustained a concussion from the defendant’s fist. He is dangerous.”

Rick doesn’t flinch. “The State is quick to discredit testimony that doesn’t align with its narrative. These aren’t ‘casual acquaintances,’ they’re willing witnesses. And they add weight to what Ms. Starr has already testified under oath.”

The judge steeples his fingers, eyes moving between them. Silence stretches until it’s unbearable. Finally, he says, “Bail remains denied. However, the Court acknowledges the defense has raised substantive issues that will need to be resolved at trial. Discovery deadlines are confirmed. Plea negotiations should remain open.”

The gavel cracks.

My chest caves in. Another no.

What is the point of this?

Behind me, Kennedy mutters something vicious under her breath, while Easton’s mom sighs beside me, long and low, like she’s exhausted. But I can’t look at her. I look at Easton instead. His jaw is tight, his eyes steady on me, like he’s trying to hold me together even as deputies pull him back toward the door.

The sound of a heart beating fills the room.

Strong, steady, rhythmic. I stare at the monitor, tears blurring my eyes as the technician moves the wand over my belly. The screen flickers with only gray and white. And then … a tiny profile. A little leg with five little toes kicks, proof of life I can barely believe is mine. Even though I’m staring right at it.

“That’s your baby,” the technician says gently. “Everything looks good. Measuring right on track.”

My hand fly’s to my mouth. My parents sit behind me, silent. My dad leans forward, eyes wide, while my mom grips her purse like she is afraid to let go.

“Everything is there?” My voice cracks.

The technician smiles. “Yes, from what I can see the child is perfectly healthy.”

Tears spill down my cheeks. She holds the printout toward me, and I reach for it, clutching it like a lifeline. The heartbeat still echoes in my ears, even when the gel is wiped away, even when the appointment ends and the doctor talks about vitamins and exercise.

Walking out of the office, my mom touches my arm. “It’s … different when you see it, isn’t it?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah.”