The room went completely quiet when the judge looked in my direction and asked if I had anything concrete to offer the court today. “Miss Miller, do you have any response to these allegations of fraud regarding your military history?” the judge asked while peering over his spectacles.
Gwen looked at me just once and I knew that this entire moment had been carefully planned before we ever stepped inside the Tucson courthouse. I stood up and slid off my blazer before pressing my fingers to the tight ridge of skin above my collarbone where the scars still pull.
“I have plenty to say, Your Honor, but I would rather show you the physical evidence first,” I said while moving the fabric of my shirt just enough. I revealed the pale and hard line where a piece of shrapnel had entered my body before the field surgeons had to dig it back out.
My mother actually laughed at the sight of it and leaned forward to address the bench without waiting for her turn to speak. “That scar could have come from a car accident or a fall in the kitchen, and it proves absolutely nothing about her service,” she claimed.