“I understand,” Judge Markham said, his tone softening slightly, “that it is difficult to know what to do. That you may have been afraid of making things worse. But there are resources. There are people trained to help. There are ways to intervene that do not require you to confront the abuser directly.” He paused. “But you have totry,” he urged. “You have to be willing to step forward, to speak up, to dosomething. Because if you don’t, then the next Mercedes Nelson, the next victim you choose not to get involved with, will suffer the same fate. Maybe worse. And their blood will be on your hands.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Judge Markham straightened in his seat.
“This court is adjourned,” he declared, his voice formal once more.
The gavel came down with a sharp crack that echoed through the courtroom.
“All rise,” the bailiff announced.
We stood as Judge Markham exited through the door to his chambers. The moment he was gone, the courtroom erupted into a chorus of people talking, crying, moving toward the exits.
I turned to Simon, and for the first time in weeks, I saw something other than fear in his eyes.
Relief.
Pure, overwhelming relief.
“It’s over,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Tony, it’s over.”
I wanted to pull him into my arms. Wanted to kiss him, hold him, tell him that everything was going to be okay now.
But I couldn’t.
Not here.
So instead, I nodded, my hand squeezing his arm briefly before I let go.
“It’s over,” I agreed.
Behind us, I heard Sadie sobbing, heard Keys murmuring something to her in a low voice. Heard Simon’s parents moving toward us, their faces wet with tears.
And then I felt it.
The shift in the air.
The cold, sharp presence that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I turned, and there she was.
Rosalind.
She was standing at the prosecution table, her files gathered in her arms, her expression carefully blank. But her eyes burned with barely contained rage.
She walked toward us, her heels clicking against the floor with precision.
Simon tensed beside me, and I shifted slightly, putting myself between them.
Rosalind stopped at the edge of our table. She looked at Simon, then at me, then back at Simon.
“Congratulations,” she said, her voice flat. “You must be very pleased with yourselves.”
“Rosalind—” I started, but she cut me off.
“This isn’t over,” she said, her gaze fixed on Simon. “You think you’ve won. You think you’re safe now. But you’re not.”
Simon’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.