When her name was called, she rose carefully, her cane steady against the tile floor. The courtroom wasn’t full, but it wasn’t empty either — a handful of defendants, a bored-looking bailiff, a young prosecutor scrolling through her tablet. Judge Pike barely looked up.
“Ms. Ellison. Three outstanding parking violations. Failure to appear on initial notice. Is there a reason for that?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” she replied evenly. “I had back-to-back VA appointments out of town. I attempted to reschedule—”
“Stand up when you address the court.” A faint ripple of discomfort moved through the room. Mariah blinked.
“I am standing, sir.”
“No,” Pike said, irritation sharpening his tone. “Stand properly.”
There it was — that word. Properly. She shifted her weight, trying to straighten fully. The prosthetic socket had been inflamed all week. She’d adjusted it before coming in, but courthouse floors were slick, and her balance wasn’t perfect.
“I’m standing to the best of my ability,” she said, still calm, though a flush crept up her neck. The judge finally looked at her.
“Ms. Ellison, this court will not tolerate defiance. Stand.”
And something in that word wasn’t about posture anymore. She tried. She really did. She pulled her shoulders back, redistributed her weight, and in that small, stubborn act, the rubber tip of her cane slipped. The sound wasn’t dramatic. It was soft — a scrape, a gasp, then the dull impact of body against tile. Her bag tipped over beside her.
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