I Walked Into Court Beside My Mom. My Dad Smirked — Until I Addressed the Judge as Her Attorney

faintly of burnt coffee and aging paper, overlaid with the sharp chemical scent of industrial cleaner. Somewhere deeper inside the building, a copy machine clacked rhythmically, and muted voices bled through closed doors. The sounds of the justice system grinding forward, case by case, hour by hour.

My mother trailed half a step behind me, the way she continue reading …