“Oh, come on. After everything in the last few weeks, this is the date that renders you speechless?”

Chayala’s heels clicked on the highly polished floor as she slipped out of the main hall to get a break from the music. Her cousin Perri’s wedding was tonight, and she was happy she had a chance to spend time with her siblings, whose comfortable commentary had been the background noise of her whole life… until recently. She’d felt a sad sort of solidarity with her sister Malky tonight, who’d been subject to almost as many pitying, lingering looks as she had. Chayala didn’t feel bad for herself, so why did the entire population of Lakewood take it upon themselves to do it for her?

She glanced around the spacious foyer, keeping her eyes peeled for her father. She spotted him sitting in an alcove off the main hallway, concentrating on his phone, and she walked over, her long organza skirt swishing softly.

Her father glanced up at the approaching footsteps, wariness etched into his face. “Ah, Chayala, it’s you,” he said, relief apparent in his voice. “Pull up a seat, come schmooze.”

She dragged over a nearby chair and allowed herself to take the pressure off her painful feet.

“How’s everything going? Any updates with the lawyers?”

Mr. Fried’s face shuttered. “Oy, Chayala, I’m sorry, sweetie, I don’t want to get into this here. It is what it is, and there’s not a lot we can do right now. Let’s leave it to the lawyers. We shouldn’t be mixing in.”

Chayala gaped at him, feeling decidedly at odds with the up-tempo dance music filtering in from the main ballroom a hundred feet away. “We shouldn’t be mixing in? Ta, how can you say that? We can’t just sit back and hope for the best.” She opened her notes app on her phone and consulted the list of leads she’d been working on. “I did a little research. There are a bunch of things we can try. I heard there’s this guy in Monsey — he’s supposed to be a huge askan and helps people with legal advice. He’s helped some people who were falsely accused of really crazy things. Why don’t you—”

Her father cut her off. “Chayala, I told you. It’s better if you leave it.”