Chapter 11

The trial started in September, eleven months after I found my obituary. I wore my lab coat on the first day. Not for drama — Vivian's idea, and she was right about everything. "You're not a wife in that room," she'd said. "You're an expert witness who happens to be the victim. Let them see which one you are." Adam had gained weight. That was the first thing I noticed. He looked healthy, rested, well-fed, and I sat in a courtroom with a cane against my knee and a half-inch of regrown hair...