His suit still fit.
His hair was still neatly cut.
But the confidence was gone.
The courtroom was silent when I stood to read my statement.
I had written six pages.
I brought one.
“Brandon,” I said.
He looked at me.
“For years, I thought the worst thing you could do to me was betray our marriage.”
His eyes lowered.
“I was wrong.”
I looked toward Mom.
Her cheek had healed months earlier.
Some injuries are merciful that way.
“You took my father’s life because he saw you clearly.”
Brandon swallowed.
“You hit my mother because she became inconvenient.”
Then I looked back at him.
“And you tried to steal from me because you thought kindness was the same thing as weakness.”
My hands stopped shaking.
“It isn’t.”
I folded the page.
“You told me to choose between my mother and my marriage.”
A murmur moved through the courtroom.
“I want you to know something.”
