Part 29
Court resumed promptly at one-thirty that afternoon.
The jurors filed back into the courtroom.
Richard sat quietly beside his attorney, his expression unreadable.
Judge Watkins looked toward the prosecution.
“Call your next witness.”
Monica Hayes stood.
“The State calls Sarah Jenkins.”
My legs felt heavy as I walked toward the witness stand.
The bailiff held out the Bible.
I swore to tell the truth.
Then I sat down.
For a moment, I couldn’t look anywhere except at the microphone in front of me.
Monica spoke gently.
“Mrs. Jenkins, how long were you married to the defendant?”
“Eleven years.”
“During those eleven years, did the violence begin immediately?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“When did it begin?”
“About six months after Emily was born.”
“What happened?”
“The first time, he apologized.”
I swallowed hard.
“He cried.”
“He promised it would never happen again.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I loved him.”
The courtroom remained silent.
Monica continued.
“Did the violence stop?”
“No.”
“What changed over time?”
“It became normal.”
I hated saying those words.
But they were true.
“I learned how to cover bruises.”
“I learned which excuses people believed.”
“I learned not to cry where the children could hear me.”
Several jurors lowered their eyes.
Monica carefully laid a photograph on the evidence monitor.
“Do you recognize this?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Our kitchen.”
“What happened there?”
I closed my eyes for a moment.
“Richard threw a chair because dinner wasn’t ready.”
“Were your daughters present?”
“Yes.”
Emily had hidden beneath the table.
Lily had cried until she fell asleep.
I had cleaned the broken dishes before sunrise because I didn’t want the girls to wake up afraid.
Monica asked another question.
“Why didn’t you leave sooner?”
The courtroom became so quiet I could hear the air conditioner humming overhead.
I looked directly at the jury.
“Because everyone asks that question.”
No one interrupted.
“They don’t ask why he hit me.”
“They ask why I stayed.”
I took a slow breath.
“I stayed because every time I tried to leave, he convinced me it would get worse.”
“He said he’d find us.”
“He said no judge would believe me.”
“He said he’d take my daughters.”
My voice cracked.
“And then…”
I looked toward Richard for the first time.
“He proved he meant it.”
…
Monica approached the witness stand with another exhibit.
“Mrs. Jenkins, do you recognize this drawing?”
She held up Emily’s picture from the cabin.
The one with the bridge.
The rabbit.
And the tiny word written on the back.
Baby.
I smiled through tears.
“Yes.”
“Who made it?”
“My daughter.”
“What did it mean to you when investigators recovered it?”
“It meant Emily never gave up.”
I paused.
“She was seven years old.”
“She was frightened.”
“And instead of giving in…”
“She spent every chance she had trying to help us find her.”
Several jurors wiped away tears.
Richard stared at the table.
He never once looked at the drawing.
…
Then came the cross-examination.
Defense attorney Daniel Brooks stood slowly.
“Mrs. Jenkins…”
“I’m very sorry for what you’ve endured.”
His tone remained respectful.
“But I need to ask you some questions.”
“I understand.”
“You testified that Mr. Jenkins sometimes apologized after hurting you.”
“Yes.”
“He also worked steadily for years?”
“Yes.”
“He provided financially for the household?”
“Yes.”
“And he loved his daughters?”
I answered carefully.
“He believed he did.”
Brooks paused.
“You don’t think he loved them?”
“I think he loved controlling them.”
The courtroom became still.
Brooks tried again.
“Did you ever see Richard intentionally harm Emily or Lily physically?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“So the kidnapping wasn’t an attempt to injure them?”
Monica immediately stood.
“Objection. Calls for speculation.”
“Sustained.”
Brooks changed direction.
“You agree that Emily was found alive?”
“Yes.”
“You agree she had food, clothing, and medical supplies?”
“Yes.”
“And the bunker contained children’s books and toys?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the jury.
“No further questions.”
Monica rose for redirect.
“Mrs. Jenkins…”
“One final question.”
I nodded.
“If Richard truly believed he was acting lawfully…”
“Why did he build the bunker in secret…”
“…create false identities…”
“…prepare forged documents…”
“…and tell Emily that you had sent him to pick her up?”
I looked at the jury.
Then at my daughters sitting safely beside Rachel.
Finally, I answered.
“Because deep down…”
“…he knew exactly what he was doing.”
The courtroom fell silent.
Judge Watkins looked toward the prosecutor.
“The witness may step down.”
As I walked away from the stand, Detective Alvarez caught my eye and gave the smallest nod.
Not because the trial was over.
But because, after years of silence…
The truth had finally been spoken where no one could force it back into the shadows.
Part 30
The following morning, the courtroom filled earlier than usual.
Word had spread that the prosecution would present its medical experts.
Every seat in the gallery was occupied.
Judge Watkins entered promptly at nine o’clock.
“The State may call its next witness.”
Assistant District Attorney Monica Hayes stood.
“The State calls Dr. Arjun Patel.”
Dr. Patel walked to the witness stand and took the oath.
Monica approached.
“Doctor, please state your occupation for the record.”
“I am a board-certified trauma surgeon at Parkland Memorial Hospital.”
“Were you involved in Sarah Jenkins’ treatment following her admission?”
“Yes.”
“What did your examination reveal?”
Dr. Patel opened a medical chart.
“Mrs. Jenkins had numerous injuries in different stages of healing.”
He displayed several X-rays on the courtroom monitor.
A rib fracture.
A wrist fracture.
An old shoulder injury.
Each image was dated and explained in simple language.
“Were these injuries consistent with a single fall?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they occurred over an extended period of time.”
He pointed to one scan.
“This fracture had healed months before another occurred.”
Another image appeared.
“This injury was several years old.”
The courtroom remained silent.
“In my medical opinion, these injuries reflected repeated episodes of significant physical trauma.”
The defense attorney stood.
“Objection to the characterization.”
Judge Watkins considered the objection.
“The witness may testify as to his medical findings.”
Dr. Patel nodded.
“My findings are based solely on the medical evidence.”
Monica asked one final question.
“Doctor, were Sarah’s injuries permanent?”
He looked toward me before answering.
“Several are.”
“The damage to her shoulder and wrist is unlikely to resolve completely.”
“And during her pregnancy?”
“We monitored both mother and baby carefully.”
“Were you concerned?”
“Yes.”
“The repeated violence created increased medical risks for both.”
Monica thanked him.
The jury listened closely.
Several jurors took careful notes.
…
The State’s next witness was Dr. Melissa Grant.
She explained Emily’s therapy without revealing confidential details beyond what the court had authorized.
“Did Emily demonstrate signs commonly associated with traumatic events?”
“Yes.”
“What kinds of signs?”
“Hypervigilance.”
“Sleep disruption.”
“Fear of separation.”
The defense objected several times.
Judge Watkins allowed only testimony directly supported by Dr. Grant’s observations.
Monica then displayed one of Emily’s drawings.
The drawing of the white house with yellow flowers.
“Did Emily create this during therapy?”
“She did.”
“What changed compared to her earlier drawings?”
Dr. Grant smiled gently.
“The frightening images disappeared.”
“What appeared instead?”
“Safety.”
“Family.”
“Hope.”
I looked toward Emily.
She was quietly coloring beside the victim advocate in a separate waiting room, far from the courtroom.
She would never have to hear every painful detail.
I was grateful for that.
…
After lunch, the prosecution called its final witness.
Detective Michael Alvarez returned to the stand.
Monica held up a thick evidence binder.
“Detective, how many search warrants were executed during this investigation?”
“Twenty-three.”
“How many major pieces of physical evidence were recovered?”
“Hundreds.”
She smiled faintly.
“I’m not asking you to describe each one.”
A few jurors smiled.
“I’m asking whether, taken together, they formed a consistent picture.”
“They did.”
“What picture?”
“A long-term plan.”
He explained the sequence.
The journals.
The surveillance.
The storage unit.
The forged identity documents.
The bunker.
The letters.
The financial records.
Each item fit together chronologically.
No single piece stood alone.
Each one supported the others.
Finally, Monica approached the witness stand one last time.
“Detective…”
“In your investigation, did you find any credible evidence that Sarah posed a danger to her children?”
“No.”
“Did you find any credible evidence that justified secretly removing Emily from her mother?”
“No.”
“Did you find any evidence that the defendant believed law enforcement had approved his actions?”
“No.”
“What did your investigation ultimately show?”
Detective Alvarez looked directly at the jury.
“It showed planning.”
“It showed deception.”
“And it showed deliberate efforts to prevent a mother from ever finding her children.”
Monica nodded.
“No further questions.”
Judge Watkins looked toward the defense table.
“Mr. Brooks, you may call your first witness.”
The courtroom grew noticeably quieter.
Everyone expected Richard to testify.
His attorney leaned toward him.
They whispered together for nearly a minute.
Richard glanced once toward the jury.
Then toward me.
Finally, he shook his head.
His attorney stood.
“Your Honor…”
“The defense intends to call one witness.”
A pause filled the courtroom.
“But…”
“It will not be the defendant.”
Every juror looked toward Richard.
For the first time since the trial began…
He had chosen not to tell his own version of events under oath.
Part 31
The courtroom remained unusually quiet.
Richard never looked up.
His attorney, Daniel Brooks, adjusted his glasses before speaking.
“The defense calls Dr. Leonard Harris.”
A man in his early sixties walked to the witness stand.
He was a licensed forensic psychologist who had evaluated Richard after his arrest.
After taking the oath, he sat calmly.
Brooks approached.
“Dr. Harris, did you conduct a court-approved psychological evaluation of Mr. Jenkins?”
“I did.”
“Without discussing any statements the court has ruled inadmissible, were you able to reach any professional conclusions?”
“Yes.”
“What were they?”
Dr. Harris chose his words carefully.
“My evaluation found that Mr. Jenkins demonstrated rigid, distorted beliefs about family relationships and control.”
Brooks nodded.
“Did you conclude that he suffered from a condition that prevented him from understanding the difference between right and wrong?”
“No.”
The answer surprised several people in the gallery.
Even Brooks paused.
“So, to be clear…”
“You are not offering an insanity opinion?”
“Correct.”
The psychologist remained composed.
“My findings do not support that conclusion.”
Brooks shifted direction.
“Did you find that Mr. Jenkins genuinely believed he was protecting his children?”
“Yes.”
“In my opinion, he expressed that belief consistently.”
Monica Hayes stood.
“No objection.”
She made a note.
Brooks finished his direct examination.
“No further questions.”
…
Monica walked slowly toward the witness stand.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Harris.”
“Good afternoon.”
“You testified that Mr. Jenkins believed he was protecting his children.”
“Yes.”
“Is believing something the same as making it true?”
“No.”
“You also reviewed the investigative file?”
“I reviewed the materials provided.”
“Did those materials include forged identity documents?”
“Yes.”
“The hidden bunker?”
“Yes.”
“The journals describing plans to avoid the courts?”
“Yes.”
“The false statement made to Emily that her mother had sent him?”
“Yes.”
Monica paused.
“Doctor…”
“If a person truly believed the law supported their actions…”
“Why would they create false identities and secretly prepare to disappear?”
Brooks stood.
“Objection. Calls for speculation.”
“Sustained.”
Monica nodded.
She changed course.
“Doctor, one final question.”
“Does your evaluation excuse criminal responsibility?”
“No.”
“Can someone sincerely believe they are right…”
“…and still knowingly commit crimes?”
“Yes.”
“No further questions.”
The witness stepped down.
Rachel leaned toward me.
“That probably helped the prosecution more than the defense.”
I quietly nodded.
For the first time, Richard looked genuinely frustrated.
…
The defense rested its case.
Judge Watkins turned to the jury.
“Tomorrow morning, you will hear closing arguments.”
As everyone stood to leave, I noticed Detective Alvarez speaking quietly with Prosecutor Monica Hayes.
He caught my eye and smiled.
Not a triumphant smile.
A reassuring one.
Outside the courthouse, reporters called my name.
“Mrs. Jenkins!”
“Do you think you’ll win?”
“Do you have a message for other survivors?”
I stopped walking.
Rachel looked at me.
“You don’t have to answer.”
I looked back at the cameras.
For years, I had hidden from people.
Today, I didn’t.
I stepped toward the microphones.
“I can’t tell the jury what to decide.”
“My job ended when I told the truth.”
I paused.
“But I do want to say something.”
The cameras fell silent.
“If someone tells you that you’re worthless…”
“If someone tells you nobody will believe you…”
“If someone convinces you that fear is normal…”
“They’re lying.”
My voice remained steady.
“There are people who will listen.”
“There are people who will help.”
“And asking for help isn’t weakness.”
“It’s the beginning of getting your life back.”
No one asked another question.
That evening, Emily sat beside me on the porch of our temporary apartment.
The sun slowly disappeared beyond the trees.
She slipped her small hand into mine.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“When the judge is done…”
“Can we plant the yellow flowers?”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
“As many as you want.”
Emily leaned her head against my shoulder.
“I think they’ll grow really big.”
I kissed the top of her head.
“I think they will too.”
Tomorrow, twelve strangers would decide Richard’s future.
But as I held my daughter beneath the quiet evening sky…
I realized something important.
No matter what happened in that courtroom…
He would never decide ours again.
Part 32
The courthouse was quieter that morning.
There were still reporters outside.
Still cameras.
Still curious onlookers.
But inside the courtroom, everything felt different.
There would be no more witnesses.
No more photographs.
No more evidence.
Only one final opportunity for each side to explain what the evidence meant.
Judge Watkins looked toward the attorneys.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will now hear closing arguments.”
Assistant District Attorney Monica Hayes stood first.
She carried no stack of files.
No exhibits.
Only a legal pad with a few handwritten notes.
She walked slowly toward the jury.
“When this trial began,” she said, “I told you this case was about years of planning.”
She paused.
“Over the past several weeks, you have seen exactly what those years looked like.”
She began reviewing the evidence.
“The journals.”
“The surveillance.”
“The forged documents.”
“The hidden bunker.”
“The storage units.”
“The false statements made to Emily.”
“The carefully prepared escape routes.”
She never raised her voice.
She didn’t have to.
Every juror had already seen the photographs.
Every juror had already heard the testimony.
“You also heard from Dr. Patel.”
“You learned that Sarah’s injuries were not the result of one accident.”
“They reflected repeated violence over many years.”
She looked toward Richard.
Then back to the jury.
“You heard Detective Alvarez explain how every piece of evidence supported the next.”
“No isolated coincidence.”
“No misunderstanding.”
“A single plan.”
“A single purpose.”
“To control.”
She held up Emily’s drawing.
The courtroom became completely silent.
“This drawing was not made by an investigator.”
“It wasn’t created by a prosecutor.”
“It wasn’t prepared for court.”
“It was drawn by a frightened little girl trying to help people find her.”
She carefully placed the drawing back onto the evidence table.
“The law does not require you to speculate.”
“It asks only that you evaluate the evidence.”
“And the evidence speaks clearly.”
She returned to her seat.
…
Defense attorney Daniel Brooks stood.
He adjusted his jacket before approaching the jury.
“My client has made decisions that are difficult to defend.”
He didn’t pretend otherwise.
“But your responsibility is not to decide whether Richard Jenkins was a good husband.”
“It is not to decide whether he was a good father.”
“It is to determine whether the State has proved every charge beyond a reasonable doubt.”
He carefully discussed each legal element.
He reminded the jury to consider the precise wording of the judge’s instructions.
He urged them to separate emotion from evidence.
Finally, he stopped beside the defense table.
“You may believe Richard Jenkins was deeply mistaken.”
“You may believe he caused terrible harm.”
“But your verdict must rest on proof.”
Not sympathy.
Not anger.
Not headlines.
Only proof.
He sat down.
…
Judge Watkins reviewed the law with the jury.
She explained each charge separately.
Each required element.
The burden of proof.
The presumption of innocence.
The obligation to consider every count independently.
When she finished, she looked toward the foreperson.
“Members of the jury…”
“You may now retire to deliberate.”
One by one, the twelve jurors filed out of the courtroom.
The heavy wooden door closed behind them.
For the first time in weeks…
There was nothing left to say.
…
Hours passed.
Rachel and I waited in a small conference room.
Neither of us spoke very much.
Sometimes silence was easier.
Emily was with her therapist, coloring pictures while the adults handled what came next.
Detective Alvarez stopped by late that afternoon carrying two cups of coffee.
“I thought you might need this.”
I accepted it with a grateful smile.
“Thank you.”
He sat across from us.
“No matter what happens…”
I looked up.
“What?”
“You protected your daughters.”
His words settled over me.
For years I had blamed myself for staying.
For years I had wondered if I had failed them.
Now, hearing those words from the detective who had seen every piece of evidence…
Something inside me finally began to heal.
…
At 5:42 p.m., the courtroom clerk opened the conference room door.
“Mrs. Jenkins?”
I stood immediately.
“The jury has reached a verdict.”
My heart began pounding so loudly I could barely hear anything else.
Rachel took my hand.
“You don’t have to be afraid.”
Together, we walked back toward Courtroom Four.
Richard was already seated at the defense table.
His attorney whispered quietly beside him.
The jurors entered.
None of them revealed any expression.
Judge Watkins looked toward the foreperson.
“Madam Foreperson…”
“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”
The foreperson stood.
She held a sealed envelope in her hands.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
The bailiff carried the envelope to the judge.
Judge Watkins looked down briefly before handing it back.
She nodded once.
“Please read the verdict.”
The entire courtroom held its breath.
The foreperson unfolded the first page.
She looked directly at Richard.
Then she began to speak.
“On Count One…”
Part 33
No one moved.
The foreperson unfolded the verdict form with careful hands.
The sound of the paper seemed impossibly loud in the silent courtroom.
Judge Watkins nodded.
“You may proceed.”
The foreperson looked down at the first page.
“On Count One, Aggravated Kidnapping…”
She paused just long enough for every heartbeat in the room to feel suspended.
“…we, the jury, find the defendant…”
I instinctively reached for Rachel’s hand.
“…Guilty.”
A quiet gasp spread through the gallery.
Richard remained motionless.
His attorney closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again.
The foreperson continued.
“On Count Two, Domestic Assault Causing Serious Bodily Injury…”
“…Guilty.”
“On Count Three, Child Endangerment…”
“…Guilty.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Not because I felt victorious.
Because someone had finally believed what had happened inside our home.
The foreperson continued reading.
“On Count Four, False Imprisonment…”
“…Guilty.”
“On Count Five, Witness Intimidation…”
“…Guilty.”
“On Count Six, Stalking…”
“…Guilty.”
One verdict after another.
The evidence the jury had spent weeks examining had led them to the same conclusion.
Judge Watkins thanked the jurors for their service.
Then she turned toward Richard.
“Mr. Jenkins, the jury has found you guilty on the counts submitted for its consideration.”
She looked at the attorneys.
“The matter will proceed to sentencing after preparation of the required presentence investigation.”
Richard remained seated.
For the first time since I had known him…
He had nothing to say.
No excuses.
No threats.
No promises.
Only silence.
…
As the deputies approached, Richard finally looked toward me.
Our eyes met for only a second.
I expected anger.
I expected blame.
Instead…
He looked tired.
The deputies placed him in handcuffs.
Judge Watkins reminded everyone that the sentence would be determined at a later hearing after reviewing the presentence report and hearing from both sides.
The bailiff announced that court was adjourned.
Outside the courtroom, reporters immediately crowded the hallway.
Monica Hayes stepped to the microphones.
“Today’s verdict reflects the jury’s careful consideration of the evidence presented during trial.”
She declined further comment.
Detective Alvarez quietly walked over to me.
“It’s over.”
I looked toward the courtroom doors.
“Not completely.”
He nodded.
“You’re right.”
“There’s still sentencing.”
“But today matters.”
“It does.”
Rachel smiled through tears.
“For the first time in a long time…”
“You don’t have to wonder whether anyone believes you.”
…
That evening, Emily was waiting at our temporary apartment.
She ran to the door before I could even unlock it.
“Mommy!”
I picked her up and held her tightly.
“Did the judge help us?”
I smiled.
“The jury listened very carefully.”
“And they believed the truth.”
She thought about that for a moment.
“So… are we safe?”
I looked into her eyes.
“We have good people helping us.”
“And yes…”
“…we’re safe.”
Emily grinned.
“I drew another picture.”
She handed me a sheet of paper.
It showed a small white house.
Yellow flowers lined the walkway.
Lily was chasing butterflies across the yard.
I was sitting on the front porch.
Emily had drawn herself holding a watering can.
In the corner of the page, she had written in large, uneven letters:
OUR NEW START
I hugged her again.
For months, every drawing had been a clue.
A message.
A plea for help.
Now…
It was simply a child’s dream of peace.
And for the first time…
That dream finally felt close enough to touch.
Part 34
Six weeks after the verdict, I walked through the courthouse doors one last time.
The air felt different.
The fear that had once settled in my chest each time I entered this building had begun to loosen its grip.
Today wasn’t about proving what happened.
The jury had already done that.
Today was about giving the court one final piece of information before sentencing.
The impact.
Rachel met me outside the courtroom.
“How are you feeling?”
I smiled nervously.
“I’ve rehearsed this speech a hundred times.”
“And?”
“I still don’t think I’m ready.”
Rachel gently squeezed my shoulder.
“You don’t have to be perfect.”
“You only have to be honest.”
I nodded.
Honesty had carried me this far.
…
Inside the courtroom, Richard was brought in wearing jail-issued clothing.
He looked older than he had only a few weeks earlier.
The confidence that had once defined him had faded.
Judge Eleanor Watkins entered promptly.
“Good morning.”
“We are here today for sentencing.”
She reviewed the presentence investigation report, confirming that both the prosecution and defense had received copies.
The report included Richard’s criminal history—which was minimal before this case—his institutional behavior while in custody, letters submitted on his behalf, and statements from the victims.
The judge looked toward Monica Hayes.
“Is the State prepared?”
“We are, Your Honor.”
“And the defense?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Judge Watkins nodded.
“Before the Court considers sentence, I will hear the victim impact statement.”
Monica looked toward me.
“Mrs. Jenkins.”
I stood slowly.
The courtroom became completely silent.
I carried only a single sheet of paper.
When I reached the podium…
I realized I no longer needed it.
I looked directly at the judge.
Then at the courtroom.
Finally…
At Richard.
For years, I had been afraid to meet his eyes.
Today…
I wasn’t.
“Your Honor…”
“My name is Sarah Jenkins.”
“For eleven years, I believed that surviving one more day was the best I could hope for.”
I paused.
“I measured time by apologies.”
“The good days lasted until the next bad day.”
“I learned how to explain bruises.”
“I learned how to smile when neighbors asked if everything was all right.”
“But the hardest part wasn’t what happened to me.”
My voice trembled.
“It was watching my daughters learn that fear was normal.”
I glanced toward the empty seats where Emily and Lily could have been.
The judge had approved the advocate’s recommendation that they not attend.
I was grateful.
“They are children.”
“They deserve memories of birthdays…”
“…school plays…”
“…bedtime stories…”
“Not police radios.”
“Not courtrooms.”
“Not hiding under tables.”
I took a slow breath.
“When Richard took Emily…”
“I believed I had failed as a mother.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“But then I saw her drawings.”
“The ribbon.”
“The crayon.”
“The little clues she left behind.”
I smiled through those tears.
“My seven-year-old daughter spent every chance she had trying to help people find her.”
“She never stopped believing I would come.”
For a moment…
No one moved.
I continued.
“That little girl taught me something.”
“Courage isn’t the absence of fear.”
“It’s choosing not to let fear decide what happens next.”
I turned toward Judge Watkins.
“I’m not asking this Court for revenge.”
“Nothing this Court does can give my daughters back the childhood they lost.”
“Nothing can erase the years.”
“But the sentence you impose today can do something else.”
“It can protect them.”
“It can protect the next family.”
“It can tell every survivor listening that the truth matters.”
I looked at Richard one final time.
“I spent years believing you controlled my future.”
“I was wrong.”
“You controlled my past.”
“My future belongs to me.”
I stepped away from the podium.
The courtroom remained silent.
Judge Watkins waited several moments before speaking.
“Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins.”
Her voice was steady, but softer than before.
“Your statement has been received by the Court.”
…
The judge turned toward the defense table.
“Mr. Brooks.”
“Does the defendant wish to exercise his right of allocution before sentence is imposed?”
The courtroom became still once again.
Richard slowly stood.
For several seconds…
He said nothing.
Then he looked toward the bench.
“Your Honor…”
His voice was quieter than anyone had ever heard it.
“I know everyone in this courtroom believes they understand what I did.”
He paused.
“I know the jury has spoken.”
Another long silence followed.
Then he added one final sentence.
“I regret that my daughters were frightened.”
He sat down.
The courtroom remained silent.
Judge Watkins looked at him carefully.
Then she closed the file in front of her.
“The Court will now pronounce sentence.”
Every person in the courtroom held their breath.
Part 9 : My husband beat me every single day because I coul…