“The prosecution calls Tessa Emerson to the stand.”
In another life as I walked to the stand, fear would have held me in its grip, much as my ex-husband had in the time we were married. I’m no stranger to its dark embrace, but now I face my fears instead of running.
The bailiff leads me to the stand, and I sit facing a room full of people who have already sat through hours of witness testimony. There were a few guards who testified that Vic was an upstanding man and husband, but those testimonies were canceled out as soon as Annie took the stand. Apparently, I hadn’t hidden anything from her, and she recounted every single bruise and broken rib I’d shown up to work with. That wasn’t all. She produced picture upon picture of me at my desk, me bent over patients, and me hugging my ribs . . . in each one of them, the jury could see the blooms of purple and blue over my skin in various spots.
"Do you solemnly swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" The bailiff says in a bored voice.
"I do," I say.
Gracin isn't in the room, of course, as he's wanted for the murder of Tino Salvatore and for his escape, but he's around, watching. Waiting. I draw strength from that knowledge as the prosecution grills me about my marriage to Vic. I answer their questions as honestly as I can. When I shot him, I acted in self-defense, and they have no evidence to say otherwise.
"You mean to say you stayed in an abusive relationship for years? Did you ever try to leave?"
"Yes, on several occasions."
"And what happened?"
"He beat me."
The lawyer smirks, and the audience twitters. "You didn't think to go to the police and report his behavior?"
"I did, once."
"Once? And what happened?"
I turn my attention to the Honorable Judge Edward Milton, who shifts in his seat, and raise my eyebrows, silently asking if he really wants me to answer this question in open court. He calls a recess, but it doesn't matter. Once Gracin and I decided it would be in my best interest to clear my name, I knew it was only a matter of time before I was brought face to face with the man who told me women should obey their husbands. The gray pallor bleaching his triple chin tells me he hasn't forgotten me either.
As the courtroom empties, the bailiff gives me the go-ahead to get down from the stand. The prosecutor sneers at me, and I give him a wink in return. It's not his fault he has a thankless job, and besides, I have bigger things to worry about.
I wait in the hall until it empties completely. Nearly all the employees have taken advantage of the lull to slip out to lunch, so no one notices when I carefully maneuver around the velvet rope delineating the public and private sectors of the courthouse. No one stops me on my way back to the judge's private rooms. It's a small town, and though everyone knows everyone, they are also too damn polite to tell me I'm not supposed to be there.
I reach Judge Milton's door and enter without knocking. He doesn't seem too surprised to see me, considering he's more focused on the gun Gracin has against his temple. I close the door behind me and sit in a comfortably worn leather chair situated in front of his desk.
Judge Milton opens his mouth to speak, but it snaps closed when Gracin nudges him with the gun. "This isn't the talking part. This is the listening part."
"I see you do remember me," I say. "Good, then you must know why I'm here. I'm going to keep this quick because you're not worth wasting my time. I will be cleared of all suspicion in my husband's death, and you will make sure that happens. If you don't? Well, I don't think we need to be crass. Do you understand?"
A bead of sweat trails down his forehead and plops onto his pristine desk. When he doesn't answer, I lean forward. "This is the talking part."
A couple of hours later, I walk out of the courthouse and get into the nondescript SUV waiting at the curb. Gracin tugs me by the neck and kisses me long and hard, oblivious to the line of cars behind us waiting for us to move.
"You're a free woman now," he says when he's done. "What are you going to do with the rest of your life?"
"That's a good question. Got any ideas?"
He sends me a look that has my stomach clenching in anticipation. "Oh, I've got a few."
"I'm sure you do, but we have to do one thing first.”
He takes my hand and presses it to his lips as he navigates through traffic. "Yeah? What's that?"
"Why don't I show you?" I say as we come to a stoplight.
Gracin glances over, and I pull out a photo from my purse and hand it to him. "What have we got here?" he asks.
"A surprise," I say. "You might want to pull over, so we don't block traffic."
"I like surprises." He does as I instruct and pulls off the road and into an empty parking lot.
If there are memories that keep me up at night and make me question why I was put on this Earth to endure the things I have, then there are also memories that remind me why I keep going, keep fighting. A lot of them feature Gracin in some way or another. But none of them will ever top this one.
"Tessa, what is this?" he asks, though we both know the answer.
"Gracin, I don't know what the future holds for us, and I don't care. All I know is I can't imagine one without you in it. I love you, so much. I didn't think we'd ever have this chance again, but now that we do, I'm so glad it's with you."
He looks up from the ultrasound picture and says, "You're pregnant?"
Before I can answer, he takes me into his arms and crushes me to his chest.
"There aren't words to describe what I feel for you," he says. "But if there were, they'd still never be enough."
"So, you're happy?" I ask as happy tears fill my eyes.
"I'm ecstatic, sweetheart." He kisses me again and then says. "Let's go home."