Chapter 18 - Saying It Out Loud
I practiced answering questions with a counselor, not to learn what to say but to learn that I could pause, ask for clarification, or say I didn't remember.
The day of the assault trial, Mom wore a dark green dress. I wore my blue sneakers because I wanted one thing in that courtroom to feel like me.
When I took the stand, Dad looked older. I didn't look away.
"Tell us what you saw when you came home," the prosecutor said.
I described the running faucet, Mom bent over the sink, Dad's hand in her hair, and the cabinet hitting my back.
"Did you try to stop him?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"He hit me."
The defense asked whether I had been upset enough to misunderstand the scene.
"I was upset," I said. "I wasn't confused."
I heard a chair shift behind me. I kept my eyes on the prosecutor.
Mom testified afterward. She explained why she'd stayed, why she'd waited to call for help, and why she had finally made a plan to leave. She didn't apologize for being frightened.
Medical records, photographs, and the responding officers' accounts supported what we said. The old recording helped establish the history of intimidation, subject to the court's rulings about what the jury could consider.
The jury took its time. I sat in a hallway beside Caleb and counted blue squares on the floor until Mom squeezed my hand.
When we returned, the foreperson stood.
Dad was found guilty of assaulting Mom and me.
I didn't cheer. I felt a strange, heavy quiet, like a storm had passed but the trees were still moving.
Outside the courtroom, a reporter called my name. Beth stepped between us.
"She's a child," Beth said. "Leave her alone."
Mom and I went home without giving an interview.
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A week later, the court notified us of the sentencing date. Ethan had asked for permission to address the courtroom before the judge made the final decision.
I wondered what he could possibly say that I hadn't already heard.
