Prison had a way of shrinking time.
Cedric sat on the cold bench in the visitation room, hands clasped, eyes forward. He had been brought in without explanation—no schedule, no warning. That alone told him this wasn't routine.
Across the glass, Amanda appeared.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
She looked smaller than he remembered, but harder too. Like something fragile that had learned how to resist pressure without breaking.
"You're okay," she said finally, as if saying it might make it true.
Cedric nodded. "I'm still standing."
That almost broke her.
"They're nervous," Amanda said quietly. "I can feel it."
Cedric's brow furrowed. "Who?"
She hesitated, then leaned closer to the glass. "Everyone who thought this would stay buried."
Cedric absorbed that. In prison, information was oxygen. Even a little could keep you alive.
"My lawyer found inconsistencies," she continued. "Small ones. But lies don't like pressure."
Cedric exhaled slowly. "Be careful."
Amanda smiled sadly. "I didn't raise you to surrender."
A guard stepped forward. "Time."
Cedric pressed his palm to the glass.
Amanda mirrored it.
And just like that, she was gone.
Back at the house, Monica watched Duncan dress for work, studying him like a stranger. He moved differently lately. Less certainty. More silence.
"You've been distracted," she said.
Duncan didn't look at her. "I'm thinking."
"That's new," Monica replied sharply.
He finally turned. "We need to talk about Naomi."
Monica stiffened. "What about her?"
"She's not sleeping," he said. "She barely eats. She avoids you."
"She's sensitive," Monica snapped. "Always has been."
Duncan's jaw tightened. "She lied."
The word hit the room like a gunshot.
Monica laughed once. Too loud. "You don't know that."
"I know my daughter," Duncan said. "And I know guilt when I see it."
Monica stepped closer. "You're choosing him again."
Duncan shook his head. "There was never a choice. That's what you never understood."
Her eyes burned. "Everything I did was for this family."
"No," he said quietly. "It was for your fear."
Silence swallowed them.
Naomi sat in her car outside the campus library, keys dangling from the ignition. She hadn't gone in. Hadn't gone home either.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from A.
You don't have to carry this alone.
Naomi stared at the words until her vision blurred.
She typed back.
What happens if the truth destroys everything?
The reply came slower this time.
Then it should have been destroyed.
Naomi closed her eyes.
Decision pressed against her ribs, sharp and unavoidable.
In prison, Cedric returned to his cell with a new awareness. The man on the lower bunk glanced up.
"You smile," the man said. "That's dangerous in here."
Cedric lay back. "Hope is dangerous."
The man snorted. "Hope gets people killed."
"Maybe," Cedric replied. "But fear already did."
The man studied him for a long moment. Then nodded once.
"You're changing," he said. "That's good. Or very bad."
Cedric didn't respond.
For the first time since his arrest, the walls felt thinner.
Amanda met the lawyer that night.
He spread documents across the table. "If Naomi talks, the case collapses."
"She will," Amanda said.
"You sound sure."
Amanda thought of her son behind glass. Of Monica's fear. Of lies cracking under their own weight.
"I am."
The lawyer leaned back. "Then prepare for retaliation."
Amanda smiled without warmth. "Let them try."
Duncan stood alone in his study later, the folder open again in his hands. Proof of what he had always intended. Proof that love had never been divided.
Too late, perhaps.
Or just in time.
He closed the folder and reached for his phone.
Some truths couldn't wait any longer.
Cedric lay awake that night, listening to the prison breathe around him.
Somewhere beyond these walls, pressure was building. People were choosing sides. Lies were being cornered.
He smiled faintly into the darkness.
Fault lines had formed.
And when they split—
Spines shatter.