I sighed. She was not going to stop. “Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll accept pepper spray.”
She clapped, drawing the attention from several people sitting nearby. “Perfect. I’ll order you my favorite brand.”
Ava leaned over, joining the conversation. “You have a favorite brand of pepper spray?”
“Of course I do.” Chloe scoffed. “What an absurd question.”
Eventually, we were led into a long, narrow space with a drop-tile celling and no windows. Three people sat behind a large table at the front of the room, each with a nameplate. The members of the parole board. One woman sat between two men, and they all looked to be in their fifties.
Just after we’d taken our seats, the back door opened andDonny walked in, wearing his prison uniform, with handcuffs on his wrists.
He was led to a table in front, and then the handcuffs were removed by the corrections officer.
One of the male parole board members read the rules and procedures, explaining the original charges, conviction, and sentence as well as the offered grounds for parole.
A representative from the board of prisons came forward and summarized a report regarding Donny’s physical and mental health. His success in the substance abuse program and his record of conduct in prison.
Donny made a statement next, reading from a piece of paper. His hair was short, almost a buzz cut, and his face was clean shaven. He was thinner than I remembered. I’d always considered him this larger-than-life figure. A man who oozed power and dominance. But as I looked at him now, after years of healing, I saw him for what he was.
Pathetic.
Weak.
And cruel.
His words were empty and his voice monotone. When he talked about his children, I had to suppress a snort. He talked about his career with his family business and a list of other reasons he believed he should be allowed back into society.
When he finished and sat down, the board asked if I’d like to make a statement.
Ava stood up. “My client has already submitted her statement in writing.”
“Wait,” I said, standing. The plan had been not to speakbut to be a presence here. But suddenly I couldn’t not speak. I needed to be heard. “May I?”
The woman sitting at the table nodded.
“I submitted a written statement,” I said, though Ava had just told them that.
“Yes,” she replied. “We have reviewed it along with the exhibits you provided.”
“So I won’t repeat myself.” I shifted, feeling several sets of eyes on me. Donny’s scrutiny was the heaviest, but I forced myself to make eye contact with him. And when I did, I knew for certain that I would never, ever let this man hurt me again.
“My ex-husband has engaged in a pattern of harassment and threats since his arrest three years ago. I have no reason to believe he has been rehabilitated. My statement and the exhibits provide the necessary details.”
Eyes narrowing, he clenched his jaw. I used to look for those fine movements with surgical accuracy. I would obsessively study his moods, appealing and deflecting when he got angry.
But his mood was no longer my problem.
“You will not hurt me again,” I said firmly. “You will not hurt my children.”
I sat down, my hands shaking. But I kept my spine straight and looked directly at the parole board members. No tears, no theatrics. Just the facts.
My breathing had just steadied when a shout rang out from the back of the room.
“You evil bitch.”
I whipped around in my seat, the familiar voice making my hackles rise.
Phyllis stood at the back of the room, shaking her fist at me. Even from here, I could see the fury in her eyes.