The courtyard outside the courthouse was a storm of flashes, microphones, and shouted questions. Security guards kept a strict perimeter, allowing only a controlled cluster of reporters to inch forward as Old Mr. Thorne and Florence stepped out first.
One reporter, braver—or more shameless—than the others raised her voice above the crowd.
"Mr. and Mrs. Thorne! How does it feel to finally see justice served for your daughter and her husband?"
Florence stopped walking. Tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes, trembling but refusing to fall. She held herself with the dignity of a woman who had learned long ago that grief could not be allowed to crush her.
"It feels…" Her voice broke, then steadied. "It feels like peace. Like rest. Emily's death has weighed heavily on us for many years. Today, I feel as though some part of her can finally sleep."
