Meg sits at the defense table trying not to think about dead babies. She’s been trying not to think about dead babies for several hours. But already halfway into trial, grainy ultrasounds are slotting into her thoughts, and she’s losing focus of the testifying suit she’s supposed to be wefting.

What helps is to think about the money. It doesn’t clean out the thoughts. But it at least reminds her of the stakes. And that corks them long enough to allow Meg to concentrate on what matters this instant: wefting the bejesus out of plaintiff’s witness, the one Jackson’s tearing to shreds on cross.

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