Judge Marshall,” Diane poked her head in. “Your ten o’clock is ready.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, my fingers hovering over the envelope. I should have thrown it away unopened. Instead, I slipped it into my desk drawer and straightened my robe, pushing aside the sudden flood of memories that threatened to drown me.

Later that evening, after a particularly difficult custody hearing, I finally opened it. The engraved invitation was exactly what I expected: James Anthony Marshall and Catherine Elizabeth Wilson requested the honor of my presence at their wedding. What I hadn’t expected was the small, handwritten note from my mother tucked inside. Ellie, please come. I miss you. Dad and James don’t know I’ve sent this to you. -Mom