Page 67 of Until Waverly

“As does the state, Your Honor,” the prosecutor stated.

“All right,” the judge murmured. “Mr. Stapleton, I have to ask you a few questions, regarding this plea agreement.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” he replied.

It’d been a long time since I’d heard his voice. The frantic, pleading edge was gone. If anything, he sounded like a broken, forlorn person who knew no matter what he did next, the outcome would always be the same. That hurt my heart more.

“Do you comprehend by agreeing to the terms of your plea deal, you will be incarcerated for no more than seventy-two months. You will attend therapy twice weekly for every month you are in prison, and you will sign over your rights to your son to his maternal grandmother.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Chris said, his head falling forward while his shoulders slumped.

“Do you grasp that once your sentence has been served, you will be on supervised probation for an additional five years and will be required to submit to drug testing and psychological evaluations?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” he said.

“So be it,” the judge said, signing off on the plea agreement. “Now, if the prosecution would like to call their first witness for a victim impact statement.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said. “Our first witness is Miss Waverly Redman. The nurse who was injured while on the Labor and Delivery floor.”

I stood then and made my way to the witness box. Nervous butterflies churned in my stomach, and I was grateful I hadn’t eaten before we left the house. The idea of reliving the horrible day had me in knots, but I also realized it was the right thing to do. At least now, with Chris entering a plea agreement, I wouldn’t be grilled about the incident.

“Can you please state your name for the record?” the prosecutor said.

“My name is Waverly Redman..” I cleared my throat, fiddling with the hem of my skirt.

“Can you tell the court what your job was the day Mr. Stapleton arrived?”

“I was on my clinical rotation with Joyce and Amy, my instructors and immediate supervisors. My rotation was part of my graduation requirement and licensing requirement,” I replied. Two weeks ago, I’d taken my NCLEX test for licensing in the state of Tennessee. I was so close to my goal I could taste it.

“You were injured the day of the incident, Miss Redman. Can you explain to the court what happened to you and how your recovery is going, please?”

I started at the beginning, my gaze never leaving Mr. Stapleton. He was still a broken man. Shattered beyond repair. I could see that now. The grief clung to him like a sour, sickly sweat, permeating his being.

“To be honest, I don’t know how our feet got tangled, only they had, and I fell—hard.” The hairline fracture in my skull had healed beautifully from what Dr. Jay said. I’d had a few headaches off and on, which was to be expected. None of them so debilitating I couldn’t perform my tasks as a nurse. Thankfully.

“The compound fracture of my ankle has been the most damaging,” I said. “I don’t have a couple of bones in my foot because of the severity of the break, and I had to relearn how to walk on it again without a walking boot. Then there are the nightmares.”

“Have you been seeing anyone to help process the incident?”

I nodded. “I have. In the beginning, the terrors were bad. Now they’re more infrequent. Most had to do with trying to find my daughter.” I glanced at the judge, then to Mr. Stapleton. “My daughter was in the on-site nursery while the hospital was on lockdown. Her father and my parents couldn’t get to her until after the hospital was given the all-clear.”

Tears streamed down Mr. Stapleton’s cheeks. I wasn’t saying anything to be mean, but he had to understand the consequences of his actions. Those long hours without being able to see Alandria, then waking up to find her gone. They’d been the worst days of my life.

“We’ve learned you woke from anesthesia in a combative condition,” the prosecutor said. “Do you remember any of that?”

I shook my head. “Dr. Jay said some of the issue had been the original incident and the other was because of the seriousness of my concussion. He kept me sedated for a few days to allow my brain to heal. When I came to in a dark room, I was even more confused.”

“If you had to choose what would happen to Mr. Stapleton, what would it be?”

I frowned. Now that I was sitting there, the flip-flopping I’d done over the last six months seemed inconsequential. He made a bargain. A jury wouldn’t be needed. “He needs to heal. I understand the trauma of losing someone. I understand being frantic about a baby’s life. My daughter was in that hospital too. However, if he’d just listened to us, things would have been different. Obviously, had security brought him to the right floor, we wouldn’t be here either, but Mr. Stapleton lost his ability to reason, and I took the brunt of his loss of control.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Angry. Sad. My heart says to lean into compassion for a man who mourns his wife and could have lost his son. My mind says that he deserves everything he is receiving today and more. For the rest of my life, my ankle will be fused together. I will always have a wonky gait. I’ll have headaches from time to time as a reminder of this incident. My life will never be the same, however I am alive. I will still be a nurse, and I will continue to care for patients in their time of need. I wish I could have done more to help Mr. Stapleton. I’m sorry for his loss.”

The prosecutor’s expression softened. “Is there anything else you’d like to say to the court or the defendant?”

“I hope you find peace,” I murmured. “That’s all.”

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