Page 11 of Love Rewritten

I look past his shoulder, seeing that spot at the side of the parking lot where Sam fought so hard to destroy me. But standing here, Dallas wrapped around me, my worries seeming to slip away with each passing second, I remind myself that he didn’t. And he won't. I won’t let him.

The conference room is quiet. Much too quiet for how big it is. And dull. They need to get something to hang on the empty gray wall across from me. The small, framed picture of a fruit basket that sits on a single, mounted shelf does little to calm my nerves that ricochet from wall to wall.

Dallas places a hand on my bouncing knee, trying, hoping, to soothe the anxiety racing through me.

“Deep breaths,” he says, now tracing idle circles on my knee. It's enough to pull my mind back to what's in front of me.

I nod, closing my eyes, and inhaling to follow his instructions. I force the air in through my nose, deep into my lungs until I physically can't draw more in and let it out slowly, directing my breath into a single spot on the table. I repeat that until a knock raps on the door a minute later only for all my hard work to slide right back out.

I look up to see Dallas’s mom enter through the heavy wooden door with a large binder. She’s dressed in a navy pencil skirt and a matching blazer. Her warm brown hair falls in soft curls at her shoulders, bouncing with each step. I think she’s dyed it since I last saw her at the hospital because it’s darker now. Maybe it’s the lighting, but it no longer matches the light brown color of Dallas’s like it did that day. She smiles, setting her binder on the table and coming over to hug Dallas. She squeezes him tightly before turning her attention to me.

“It's good to see you well, Abigail." She takes a seat next to me. "Is Abigail okay or would you like me to call you something else?”

“Just call me Abby, please.” My mother is the only one who still calls me Abigail. I don't hate my full name, but I've been going by Abby for so long now that Abigail just doesn't feel like me.

My smile is forced while I readjust in the brown leather chair. My feet dangle below me and my toes graze the old gray carpet as I subconsciously swing them back and forth.

“Abby. Of course. I’m Trisha, in case you forgot, but most people call me Trish. Feel free to call me whatever is easiest. Before we get started, would you prefer Dallas stay here? Otherwise, I can kick him out.” They smile at each other before Dallas nods in agreement. They both look at me, waiting for an answer.

“I’d really rather he stays.” She's not threatening, but I severely need the familiarity Dallas provides. He squeezes my knee before wheeling his chair closer to the table. She nods again and opens the binder.

“Okay. Why don't we get started then? I want you to know that if you need to take a break at all, just let one of us know and we can pause.” She smiles at me again but doesn’t wait for me to respond.

So much smiling. It’s weird, maybe a little unsettling. Happy isn't exactly how I would describe this moment in time. But maybe that’s the point. It’s supposed to soften the blow of everything she’s about to tell me.

She pulls a packet of paper from the first clear protective sleeve in the binder and folds the first page over. “So, I’ve been going through the history. Anything I could find. Police reports. Hospital records. Text messages from Sam over the last month. I have to say, I’m shocked nothing came of this sooner. I’m very sorry our legal system has failed you.” She peers at me with a slight tilt to her head, seeming to assess my reaction.

I shrug, unsure of what to say. Did it fail me? Yes. Do I expect it to fail me again? I don’t know, but I don’t exactly have a great track record. So, for now, I’ll stand by, giving as much of myself to this process as I can, but I refuse to lose myself in it.

“Before we dig in, I think we should do a recap of everything. Nothing too in-depth, but I want you to be able to add or correct me on things if need be. How does that sound?”

When I agree, she starts with the first police report I made six months into the relationship and works through the rest of them. I find myself barely remembering half of what the reports say. My brain has suppressed the trauma. I don't have many comments to add. Most of this is me letting her know she has the right information.

When she arrives at the more recent occurrences with the day I broke up with Sam at the party, the resulting stalking, and ultimately the hospitalization, I almost tune out. I almost stop listening to the words she’s speaking as if it's a foreign language. The knots in my stomach, building up into my throat, are almost too much. I’m nodding, but I’m not sure if my nodding means anything to anyone, or if I’m simply trying to reassure myself that I’m still alive, that I’m not drowning in that relationship anymore.

But then she stops. Dallas’s hand moves to my knee while he rubs circles over the fabric. They’re both looking at me when I raise my head.

“I want to give you some hope here. We can process this as a criminal case. I’ve evaluated everything, and from where we sit, there's a good chance we win this and get a good sentence for Sam. There is plenty of evidence, and with your testimony, I think we are sitting in a good spot.”

“My testimony?” I ask, my heart already pounding in my ears like a bass drum. “I’m going to have to see him again?”

No.No.I can’t. Ican’tdo that.

She takes a deep breath, places the packet of paper back in her binder, and closes it. She folds her hands on the table, crosses her legs, and focuses her attention on me. I feel Dallas rub my knee again, reminding me he’s still here. “Legally speaking, no. You are not required to be at the hearing. I can’t, and won’t force you to do anything, but your testifying would help this case immensely. We will have a better shot of the jury being on the same page, our page, if they hear your story.”

I swallow the knot in my throat. “I don’t know if I can do that.” What did I think was going to happen? I just file this away, everything goes smoothly, and I can go about my merry way? The thought almost makes me laugh though it'd be void of any actual humour. Of course, seeing him again was going to be a part of this. Of course, talking to him again would help. I can’t believe I was so naïve.

“I won’t make you decide right now, but please take some time to really think this over. It could be the one thing we need to get an appropriate sentence.” I focus on a darker spot of wood on the table, tracing the lines with my eyes while she continues. “I do want to mention that domestic cases can take a while to complete, but I will do everything in my power to speed up the process as much as I can.”

I nod, still tracing that spot on the table.

“Do you want to take a break?” Dallas asks, leaning closer.

I shake my head rapidly. “I’d rather get this over with all at once.”

“Okay,” Dallas says calmly.

Trisha continues after grabbing another piece of paper from her binder. “I think the only other thing I want to do today is file for the protective order. This will prevent him from having contact with you until further notice.”

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