Chapter 12
The murder trial took a year.
By then Noah was eight.
He knew Vanessa hurt people.
He knew she lied about the baby.
He knew adults were trying to find the truth about his mother.
He did not know every detail.
Not yet.
I sat through jury selection with a stone in my chest.
Vanessa entered in a gray suit, hair pinned neatly.
She looked smaller without performance.
The prosecutor opened with Laura.
Not Vanessa.
Not me.
Laura.
Her work.
Her son.
Her allergy.
Her trust in friends.
Then he showed how Vanessa entered her life.
Accessed records.
Tampered with medication.
Served the dessert.
Watched her die.
I gripped the bench until my fingers hurt.
Margaret sobbed quietly.
Thomas stared straight ahead.
When the video from the retreat played, I saw Laura laughing.
Then taking one bite.
Then touching her throat.
I left the courtroom.
Nora followed.
“You do not have to watch all of it.”
“Yes,” I said. “I do.”
“For Laura?”
“For Noah. He can’t carry it. So I will.”
I went back in.
May you like
Vanessa did not look at the screen.
Coward.
