Page 78 of Love Rewritten

Chapter 29

Abby

Tearsforminmyeyes before I can process what I’m seeing. My mom stands in front of the heavy wooden double doors of the courtroom, her purse clutched tightly to her stomach as she makes eye contact with me.

She smiles just enough for me to see before she takes a seat next to Cameron and Will in the back row. Is she crying, too? I don’t have to wonder who told her about today. Cameron cocks her head as she gives me a knowing and reassuring smile.

I just hope this goes as well as I’ve been hyping it up in my head. Too much hope, maybe, but it’s the only thing getting me through right now, the idea that he’ll be locked up forever and I’ll never have to see him again. Wishful thinking.

I finally let myself breathe once she’s sitting as if a single breath would be enough to make her change her mind about being here. But she doesn’t get up. She settles into her spot, her purse now resting comfortably in her lap. And even more surprisingly, she’s holding Cameron’s hand tightly in hers as she awaits the rest of the trial.

I almost don’t want to do this. But I know I should. Not for anyone else other than myself.

Trisha gave me the option a while ago. She said it can be a very freeing and empowering feeling for victims to speak their truth at the end of a trial when they likely, and hopefully, will never have to speak to their abuser again. So, I took her up on the offer and told her I would decide the day of if I was going to read it. She said I could back out right up until I’m about to read it, too.

Now, I stand in front of everyone, about to spill my heart to all these people. Half family and friends, half complete strangers. But one, just one, deserves to hear just how badly he hurt me. Just how badly he ruined me. And one other gets to hear just how much he’s mended me, helped me rewrite my story. And both of them get to hear just how strong I can be. How strong I am.

“Hi,” I start, testing the waters of my voice. I swallow the knot in my throat until it’s gone and grip the sides of the podium until I feel the wood digging into my skin. This needs to come out smoothly. I need these people to understand me. I need the judge to know the depths of my statement. I need to do this. But most importantly, I need myself tobelievewhat I’m about to read.

“You all already know who I am. You know why we’re all here. You've heard what happened. But what you don’t know is just how much of an impact Sam has had on my life.” I swallow again and squeeze my eyes shut before blinking the tears away. Not now. I can’t break down now. I focus on the words in the notebook and press on. “Sam and I started off like every other couple. No one, including myself, could have guessed that he and I would be sitting in the same room of a courthouse, both of us fighting for our own freedom. But that freedom looks very different between the two of us. He wants freedom from the law. I want freedom fromhim.Physically, mentally, emotionally, and everything in between.”

The room remains silent when I look up. I glance between the pages of my notebook and unfold the piece of paper I wedged in there. “I want to read a piece of a recent short story I wrote. It’s about where I was, and where I want to be, where I know I’m going.” I look up to see Dallas, who’s leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped together. His eyes are focused solely on me, a small smile on his face. His gaze is so intense I take a sharp breath in, but it relaxes me to know he’s invested in this, in me.

So, I start to read.“This once vast land of love is now a desolate wasteland. Empty. Drained. But that’s not all. It’s a horrifying reality to live a life of hostility. When all you’ve worked for is to worship the space we exist in, and then suddenly, it’s all, just, gone. Blown away in the wind like dust. And I crave for even a single grain of that sand you’ve touched to protect me from that wind. But the wind is you. That wind is a sandstorm. It’s blowing, attacking, forcing me back no matter how hard I dig my heels in, no matter how hard I fight through it. And when I think I’ve succeeded, lightning strikes when there are no clouds in the sky. Thunder shudders the earth, cracking the very ground beneath my feet, making me second-guess every move I make even when I think I’m looking at the sun. And now, I fear I’ve gone too far, too deep, too removed from what we were, what we should have been, what we no longer are, that there's no going back.

“I’ve found a new normal. I’ve found a new kind of peace. And it’s not you. It will never be you. You’ve broken me into something I cannot repair, but I’ll find Nirvana after this. I’ll walk this earth through the thunder, the lightning, the wind, until I find a piece of sand that will protect me. Until I can rewrite the storm floating above me into one that forms a rainbow. Until I can sit in the rain and enjoy it with every inch of my being.”

I pause after I finish the section I chose to read, but I don’t look up. The room is dead silent. It’s a little unnerving. But I continue with the rest of my statement before I can stop myself because I know that I need do this. As nerve-wracking as it is right now, it does feel good to get this off my chest, even if it won’t make a difference later. Because at least someone will finally hear me.

“What all of that means is this,” and then I force myself to look at Sam. He’s the one who needs to hear this the most. He gives me that cocky smirk he always does, but this time, it doesn’t break me. It gives me power, and I can feel the rush in my veins, spreading through every limb. “You’re better at wanting me than you are at having me. You have single handedly destroyed my life. Every aspect of it. I’ve had to relearn how relationships work, even simple ones with my friends and family. But I will come out on the other side of this stronger than you think. You’ve torn me down so I can build myself back up. I find peace and serenity in the smallest of things now.

“So yes. You broke me. But you know what else you’ve done? You’ve turned me into a stronger person than I ever thought possible. I’m rewriting myself into someone new, someone better than I was before and during you. Because there is an after you. And it issomuch better.” My voice almost cracks with the last sentence, but it’s not from hurt or fear. It’s a sense of release and freedom that I’ve never felt before. It radiates down my spine in a shuddering wave that leaves me drawing in a sharp breath. I turn to the judge this time. “I’m asking you to please take all of the evidence today and make a decision that will benefit everyone, including the community that will have to endure Sam if he’s a free man.”

And with that, I close my notebook and go back to my seat. No one talks until I’ve sat down. Trisha squeezes my shoulder and I feel Dallas reach out and rub my back, so I reach a hand behind me to take his, finally relaxing when he takes hold and doesn’t let go. A simple gesture, but after what I almost can’t believe I just did, I need it. Desperately.

Thankfully, it's time for the closing statements. Trisha stands and moves to the middle of the floor. She doesn’t have any sort of paperwork or script in her hand. She folds her hands in front of her and nods sweetly to the gallery first, and then the judge.

“I want to thank everyone for being here today. This is not an easy case to try. What is easy to see, based on the compelling testimonies from our victim, Abigail Cooper, and witness, Dallas Kraus, is that Samuel Johnson is guilty of criminal domestic violence.” She holds her hand out, palm up toward me. “Abigail Cooper was simply working in her apartment the day Samuel Johnson showed up, unannounced, and coaxed her outside. When she tried to retreat, he used physical force to keep her there and even dragged her to the side of the building. He even had a bat in his car at the time. He wouldn’t bring a bat if he didn’t have some idea that he would use it. He doesn’t play baseball professionally, or even for fun, as we’ve learned from Ms. Cooper. The pictures he gave to Ms. Cooper as well as all the text messages, calls, and voicemails, are enough to prove he was stalking her.”

She pauses, shifts positions, and addresses the gallery again. I’m not sure if this is normal for a bench trial when the judge is the one deciding or if she’s hoping to get something more out of this. “I want to draw your attention to one specific detail here. Ms. Cooper has tried to leave that relationship many times. There are enough documented 911 calls to show she was trying to get help, yet the system failed her. And based on how Mr. Johnson reacted to the breakup, she was doing her best to keep herself alive. You’ve all seen the damage he inflicted that day.”

She turns to the judge one more time. “I want you to make the best decision to keep our community safe from this man’s harsh hand. Everyone now knows what he is capable of. Please keep that in mind as you make your final decision.”

She returns to her seat as Mr. Grant stands. This should be good.

“Samuel Johnson does not deserve the kind of punishment Mrs. Kraus has laid out. He is trying his best with what he has to work with. He was a part of a relationship that was not full of love, but full of hatred. Ms. Cooper did not love Mr. Johnson. No one deserves to have a relationship built on that. Mr. Johnson was trying his best to fix things with Ms. Cooper that day. He went to sort things out with her. He loved her, still does.”

That comment makes my entire body tense and I find myself getting nauseous. I avert my gaze from him and stare at the back wall, almost wishing I could turn my ears off.

“As Mr. Johnson stated in his powerful testimony—”

Powerful? The only thing powerful about him is his fist. I force myself to swallow the scoff I almost emit.

“—remained in his car. It is not a crime to keep a bat in your car. There is no evidence to support his intention to use it. Mr. Johnson has no prior criminal history. Not even a parking ticket. Ms. Cooper does not have any remaining or lingering effects of the attack. He has not inflicted serious bodily harm.”

Nope. That’s it. I can’t listen anymore. I can’t listen to someone defend this man like he’s done nothing wrong. It’s not right. Surely his attorney knows that. How could he do this, knowing I was fighting for my life under Sam’s words and fists? I can’t comprehend how someone can sit there so causally defending the abuser.

“—admitted to his involvement, but he is not deserving of a harsher punishment after learning the facts.” And then he goes back to his seat next to Sam, who is thankfully, staring straight ahead, no evidence of that stupid smirk he always wears.

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