PART 1: The morning Rebecca Miller stood in a Manhattan courtroom, her voice did not tremble like someone seeking pity, nor did it rise with the strength of a woman asking to be admired. It carried the quiet disbelief of someone still unable to understand how her life had folded in on itself. “The infant had not eaten in nearly a week,” she told the judge softly. “That night, he stopped crying in my arms, and I thought he was dying.” As the words left her mouth, the memory returned with cruel clarity.
