On Monday morning, the central criminal courtroom of the county judicial building was filled to maximum capacity.
Every wooden spectator bench was occupied by community members, domestic violence advocates, and regional journalists who had gathered for the high-profile trial of Chloe Ward-Miller.
Judge Katherine Harrison took the bench at nine sharp, her black robes rustling as the bailiff called the court to order.
At the defense table, Chloe sat between her two lead attorneys, wearing a plain gray conservative pantsuit with her blonde hair pulled back into a severe, modest bun.
She had wiped away all makeup, attempting to present the image of a humble, overwhelmed young stepmother caught in an unfortunate misunderstanding.
Prosecutor Michael Ross stood before the jury box to deliver his opening statement.
He didn't use florid rhetoric or elaborate legal jargon.
He walked to the center of the courtroom floor, held up a transparent evidence bag containing Leo's small, red quilted toddler coat, and looked each juror directly in the eyes.
"Members of the jury, this coat was designed for autumn afternoons," Prosecutor Ross began, his voice ringing with quiet authority. "On December eighteenth, it was four degrees outside with a wind chill factor of minus eight."
Ross turned to face the defense table, pointing an accusing finger at Chloe.
"The defendant didn't simply lose her patience," Ross stated firmly. "She picked this four-year-old child up by the back of his neck, carried him to the patio, and hurled him into a two-foot snowbank. And then, ladies and gentlemen, she turned a heavy brass deadbolt latch from the inside."
A collective murmur of disgust swept through the jury box as several jurors leaned forward, taking notes.
Across the aisle, Chloe lowered her head, dabbing at dry eyes with a white cloth handkerchief in a theatrical display of grief.
In the second row of the gallery, David sat beside Elena, his hand resting firmly over hers on the wooden divider rail.
They were not there for vengeance.
They were there to be the voice of a little boy who had stood alone in the cold, screaming at a locked pane of glass.