Chapter 7
The trial was brutal.
Victoria's lawyers tried to paint me as a gold-digger. A woman who'd seen a rich man and schemed to get his money. They dragged my past through the mud — the shelter, the diner, the years of struggle.
Eleanor's lawyers argued she was a grieving mother who'd only wanted the best for her son. That she'd been manipulated by Victoria. That she was old and confused.
But the evidence was overwhelming. The recording. Margaret's testimony. The emails. The bank records. The fake death certificate. The social worker who testified that Victoria had filed the false neglect report.
And then I testified.
I stood on that stand and I told them everything. The shelter. The hunger. The nights I cried myself to sleep because Lily was asking for her daddy and I had no answer. The fear. The loneliness. The way I'd almost given up.
The jury cried. I cried. Even the judge looked moved.
Victoria took the stand. She was composed. Elegant. She lied. She blamed Eleanor. She blamed Margaret. She blamed me.
But the recording — her own voice — undid her. The jury heard her say those words. That little gold-digger and her brat will be gone forever.
They deliberated for six hours.
Guilty. On all counts.
Victoria — fifteen years.
Eleanor — eight years. She was sixty-eight. It might as well have been life.
I sat in that courtroom, Adrian's hand in mine, and I listened to the judge read the sentence. I didn't feel triumph. I didn't feel joy. I felt — release. Like a weight I'd carried for two years had finally been lifted.
Adrian squeezed my hand. "It's over," he whispered.
I looked at him. At the man I loved. At the father of my children. At the person who'd fought for us, even when it meant destroying his own family.
"It's over," I agreed.
Outside, the sun was shining. Margaret was waiting for us, holding Lily and Mia. Lily ran to us. "Daddy! Mommy!" she yelled.
She'd started calling me Mommy. She'd always called me Mama. But somewhere in the trial, in the stress, in the love — she'd started calling us Mommy and Daddy. Like a real family.
Adrian lifted her. I took Mia. We stood there on the courthouse steps, a family of four, and the photographers took our picture.
May you like
I didn't care. Let them see. Let the world see. We'd survived. We'd won.
And we were just getting started.
