Chapter TEN #3
Mei was beginning to suspect adults invented rules mainly so they could explain why nothing happened as fast as frightened people wanted. The defense requested independent testing of some physical evidence, including the lamp and phone extraction.
Alex took that personally.
"They're saying the lab lied?"
"They're testing the state's work," Andrea said. "That is their job."
"Their job is annoying."
"Also true."
The independent review did not overturn the core findings. It did raise one issue: the tiny fiber in the lamp fracture could not be conclusively linked to Grace's sweater because the material was common.
Mei worried for three days.
"Does that ruin it?"
Ruiz said no.
"A case is not a Jenga tower where one uncertain fiber knocks everything down."
"You use weird metaphors."
"Occupational hazard."
The prosecution's reconstruction team returned to the Chen house with measurements from the original scene.
By then the property was empty pending legal decisions.
Mei did not attend. They modeled sight lines from the hallway where she had been standing.
The result mattered because the defense suggested Mei might not have been able to see the push clearly. Ruiz later showed her a diagram.
"From the location you described, a person your height at age nine could see the upper landing and first several stairs."
"I told you."
"You did. The reconstruction independently supports the possibility."
Mei knew better now than to hear supports as proves.
Still, the diagram steadied her.
Investigators also compared the old family photograph hanging near the stairs in scene images taken before and after emergency responders entered.
The frame was slightly crooked in one early paramedic photograph and straight in a later police photograph.
Mei remembered Daniel straightening it. The sequence was imperfect because timestamps on some images were not synchronized, but it was another small point investigators documented.
"He cared about the picture while Mom was dying," Mei said.
Grandma's face tightened.
Ruiz replied, "We cannot know what he cared about in that moment. We can show what objects moved."
Mei looked at the diagram. Facts were colder than feelings.
Sometimes that made them stronger. The defense also suggested Grace could have stumbled during an argument without being intentionally pushed.
Mei heard about the theory from Andrea, not the internet.
"What if the jury believes that?"
"Then the jury believes the state did not prove the charge we brought. Our job is to present evidence honestly and clearly."
"But I saw him."
"And you will testify to what you saw."
"What if they think I'm confused?"
Andrea leaned back. "You cannot control a jury's mind. You can control whether your answer is truthful. That is enough work for one person."
Mei added another sentence to the sketchbook.
Truthful is my job. Believing is theirs.
At school, she started staying after for art club again.
The first afternoon, she lost track of time while painting a sneaker design and did not check the parking lot once.
When Grandma arrived, Mei realized what had happened. Nothing. Nothing had happened. For forty-five minutes, the case had existed without occupying her whole mind. That felt almost rebellious.
* * *
"They charged him for Mom."
Tiana went silent.
Then: "For real?"
"Yeah."
"Like... murder?"
Mei nodded.
Tiana's eyes filled.
"Why are you crying?" Mei asked.
"Why are you crying?"
"I asked first."
"Because you're my best friend and this is awful and good and
terrible and I don't know what emotion I'm supposed to pick." Mei laughed through tears.
"Same."
They stayed on the phone for almost two hours. They talked
about the case for maybe ten minutes. Then they argued about whether Tiana's latest crush was cute. They watched the same ridiculous videos and sent each other screenshots.
They did homework badly.
At one point, Mei looked at her own face in the small corner of the screen.
She looked twelve. For a long time, she had felt much older.
Fear could do that. Make a child feel responsible for adults, evidence, safety, consequences.
That night, Grandma knocked before entering her room.
Always knocked. Mei noticed things like that now.
"Bedtime," Grandma said.
"I'm not five."
"Then a twelve-year-old bedtime."
"That's not a thing."
"In this house, it is."
Mei plugged in her phone.
Grandma lingered by the door.
"Your mother would be proud of you."
Mei looked away.
"You don't know that."
"I know my daughter."
"What if she was mad I waited so long?"
Grandma crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Grace would be mad at one person. And it would not be the nine-year-old who survived him."
Mei swallowed.
"Sometimes I still feel like I left her there."
Grandma took her hand.
"You were a child in a hallway. He was the adult who made the choice. Put the responsibility where it belongs."
Mei nodded.
She was getting better at that. Not perfect.
Better. Outside, the new porch light came on as a car passed.
Mei looked toward the window. Her body tightened, then eased when the light went off.
Five things she could see. Lamp. Curtain.
Sketchbook. Jade pendant on the dresser.
Her mother's yellow star sticker on the closet door.
Grandma's house. December. Twelve years old.
Safe right now.