Chapter 14 - THE PROSECUTOR’S TABLEThe prosecutor’s name was Leah Grant.
She did not smile when we entered the room.
I appreciated that.
Some people smile because they want to soften bad news. Others smile because they have already decided who you are. Leah Grant did neither. She shook my hand, offered water, and opened a thick file.
“We are looking at multiple possible charges,” she said.
I sat beside Alana, my hands folded tightly in my lap.
“Against Russell?”
“Yes.”
Hearing it still made my stomach twist.
Not because I doubted he deserved it.
Because for years, he had been my husband. The father of my child. The voice on the phone telling me to keep going just a little longer.
It is difficult to watch a monster being named when you once loved the mask.
Leah listed the issues.
Forgery.
Financial exploitation.
Possible mortgage fraud.
Interference with custody.
Child neglect.
Elder abuse.
Harassment.
Not all would become charges. Some required higher proof. Some depended on agencies. Some might become leverage. But the case was no longer just mine.
The state had entered the room.
Leah slid a photograph across the table.
It showed the forged gift letter.
“Did you sign this?”
“No.”
“Did you authorize anyone to sign for you?”
“No.”
“Did you know this document existed?”
“No.”
She slid another page.
“Did you send these funds believing they were for the care of your child and parents?”
“Yes.”
“Would you have sent them if you knew your parents and son were not housed, fed, or cared for?”
“No.”
My voice broke on the last answer.
Leah gave me a moment.
Then she asked, “Are you willing to testify?”
Alana looked at me but did not speak.
The question filled the room.
Testify.
Stand in public. Say what happened. Be cross-examined. Have Russell’s lawyer call me absent, naive, unstable, bitter. Watch Russell stare at me from a defense table.
I thought of Felix sleeping on a bench.
“Yes,” I said.
Leah nodded once.
“Good.”
Outside the prosecutor’s office, Alana walked me to the elevator.
“You did well.”
“I feel sick.”
“That’s normal.”
“Will he go to prison?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will we get the house?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will Felix be okay?”
Alana softened.
“That one I believe, yes. Not quickly. Not perfectly. But yes.”
That evening, I found Felix sitting at the kitchen table with my father.
They were building a model rocket from a kit Mrs. Bell had dropped off.
“Grandpa says glue is serious business,” Felix told me.
“It is,” my father said.
My mother stood at the stove making spaghetti. The rental smelled like garlic and tomato sauce. The refrigerator hummed. Rain tapped against the windows.
It was ordinary.
For years, I had dreamed of extraordinary rescue. A dramatic return. A single victory. A door slamming in Russell’s face.
But healing looked more like this.
A child learning glue.
An old man laughing.
A pot of sauce.
Bills stacked by the microwave.
A lawyer’s number on the fridge.
A life held together with tired hands.
After dinner, there was a knock.
Everyone froze.
That was one of the things Russell had done to us. A knock was no longer just a knock.
I checked the peephole.
Serena stood outside.
She held a cardboard box.
I opened the door but kept the chain on.
“I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “I should have called.”
“What do you want?”
She lifted the box.
“I found more things in my storage unit. I didn’t know what they were until today.”
I opened the chain.
Inside the box were photo albums.
My mother gasped when she saw the first one.
It was Felix as a toddler.
Pictures I had never seen.
First haircut.
First lost tooth.
First school performance.
Russell had documented everything.
He had simply kept it from me.
Serena stood near the door, twisting her hands.
“There’s also this.”
She handed me a flash drive.
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know everything. Russell kept copies of documents. He said it was for taxes. Some folders have your name.”
Alana would need to review it.
But one file label printed on a sticky note made my blood run cold.
Maren signature samples.
I looked up at Serena.
She was crying again.
“He practiced,” she whispered. “I think he practiced signing your name.”
My mother sat down hard.
My father cursed.
Felix looked between us.
“What happened?”
I closed my fist around the flash drive.
“Nothing you need to carry tonight.”
Serena turned to leave.
“Wait,” I said.
She stopped.
“Why are you helping me?”
She looked at the floor.
“Because I lived in your house while your son had nowhere to sleep.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She wiped her face.
“Because if I don’t tell the truth now, then everything I believed about myself is a lie too.”
I understood that more than I wanted to.
I let her go.
Then I called Alana.
When she answered, I said, “He practiced my signature.”
There was a pause.
Then Alana said, “Good.”
I blinked.
“Good?”
May you like
Her voice turned sharp with purpose.
“That means he knew exactly what he was doing.”
