At home, Isaac received a concise update through Camille. He did not need every internal detail. He needed assurance that the review was broader than asking Mercer whether he thought he had done anything wrong. For once, the answer contained a named process rather than a promise to look into it.
“I don't know,” he said. “The doctor expects improvement. We are working toward that.”
Nia nodded.
She had become alert to promises adults could not guarantee. A careful answer did more for her than a cheerful one.
Before bed, she placed the science project on the table where he could see it in the morning. The small presentation had gone well.
She wanted that to be news in the house too.
Months passed before the criminal decision concerning Mercer.
The recordings did not become less important. They became part of a larger, slower examination: statements, medical records, dispatch audio, camera histories, revisions, and the laws prosecutors had to apply.
Camille updated the family when there was something concrete to report. She refused to fill every quiet week with predictions.
Isaac learned to ask what had changed rather than whether justice was coming soon.
When the indictment arrived, Nia was at school.
Prosecutors alleged that Mercer had violated the rights of Isaac and Nia through unlawful force and had obstructed the review through materially false accounts. The charges would require proof. Mercer pleaded not guilty and retained the right to contest the evidence.
Isaac sat in Camille's office while she explained.
“What do I tell her?”
“The truth in terms she can understand. This is a decision to bring a case. It is not the verdict.”
He nodded.
At home, Nia listened without looking relieved.
“Do I have to talk in court?”
“Possibly. We will help you prepare for the process.”
“Not practice what to say?”
“No. Help you understand the room and answer honestly.”
She considered the distinction carefully.
The prosecutor assigned to the case, Elena Voss, later met with the family through the appropriate arrangements. She explained witness procedures, breaks, and the importance of saying when memory was uncertain.
Nia asked whether the defense lawyer could call her a liar.
Voss did not pretend cross-examination would be pleasant. She explained the judge's role and the support available without promising that every difficult question would disappear.
A victim-support specialist named Serena Lane showed Nia photographs of the courtroom and described where people would sit. She did not use dolls or a childish voice. Nia appreciated that more than she said.
They discussed the difference between a question that felt insulting and a question that needed a clear answer.
Nia could request clarification. She could say she did not remember. She did not have to guess to make the room less quiet.
At school, Tessa asked whether the trial would be on television.
“I hope not.”
“Can I help?”
“Keep sending me normal things.”
Tessa sent a photograph of a cafeteria sandwich that appeared to have lost an argument with its wrapping.
Nia laughed in the hallway.
She saved the picture.
Meanwhile, Ruiz reviewed her original notes without rewriting them. She had been named as a witness and expected questions about her own decisions, including why she initially relied on Mercer's description.
She intended to answer those too.
Wells reminded the department that supporting an officer's right to counsel and due process did not require attacking witnesses or circulating private information about a child.
Some employees welcomed the instruction.
Some resented it.
The department continued working amid the discomfort.
Serena asked Nia whether any part of the courtroom preparation felt confusing or too childish. Nia hesitated before saying she disliked being told she was brave every time she entered a room.
Serena thanked her for saying it.
“What would you rather hear?”
“That I can ask for water.”
They wrote that on the practical information sheet, alongside breaks, directions, and the names of people she could approach.
The sheet was ordinary enough that Nia carried it in her school folder without feeling embarrassed. It did not predict how she would feel. It told her what she could do.
At home, Isaac read his own witness instructions separately. Camille reminded him not to question Nia repeatedly about details or correct differences to make their accounts match. He agreed, recognizing how easily concern could become rehearsal.
They could talk about feelings and plans without trying to manufacture identical memories.
That evening, Nia described being frightened when a teacher raised his voice at another student. Isaac listened without asking whether the sound resembled Mercer exactly.