Page 46 of Client Privilege

“Thank you, Nurse Torres.”

Blackwood approached, his expression sympathetic but his eyes calculating. “Nurse Torres, you’ve testified about various injuries, but you have no direct knowledge of how they were inflicted, correct?”

“I observed the injuries and their patterns, which are consistent with—”

“Yes or no, please. You did not witness how these injuries occurred?”

“No, I did not witness the assault.”

“And Mr. Lajeunesse never explicitly stated that Marcus Delaney caused these injuries?”

“He didn’t name his attacker.”

“In fact, he left the hospital without completing the examination that might have provided evidence, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but that’s common in domestic violence cases. Victims often—”

“Just yes or no, please.” Blackwood cut her off. “You haveno DNA evidence, no photographs, no documentation beyond your initial notes that would definitively link these injuries to my client?”

Rebecca’s frustration was visible. “The medical records—”

“Show injuries, yes. But not who caused them. Thank you, Nurse Torres. No further questions.”

As Rebecca stepped down, she paused near our table, her eyes meeting mine with silent support.

The morning session continued with testimony from the paramedics who’d responded to the 911 call from a neighbour who heard “disturbing noises” from Marcus’s apartment. Their clinical description of finding me semi-conscious on the bathroom floor made me dissociate slightly, the courtroom fading as memories threatened to overwhelm me.

Damian’s hand on my arm brought me back. “We’re breaking for lunch,” he said quietly. “You’re doing well. The nurse’s testimony was powerful.”

I nodded, unable to speak as the bailiff announced the recess. As people began filing out, I caught Marcus watching me, his expression a perfect mask of concern that made my skin crawl.

“Don’t look at him,” Mitchell murmured, positioning himself between us. “Let’s get some air.”

In the hallway, Sandra handed me a bottle of water. “One more hour of testimony, then you’re up after lunch. Remember what we practiced—just tell your truth.”

My truth. As if it were that simple to expose three years of verbal, emotional, and physical abuse to strangers who’d never experienced anything like it. As if words could possibly convey what it felt like to be unmade piece by piece by someone who claimed to love you.

But as Damian guided me toward a private conference room, I straightened my shoulders. For the first time, people were hearing what had really happened. The truth was finally emerging from theshadows where Marcus had kept it hidden for so long.

I would tell my story. For myself. For Buster. For anyone else who might be trapped as I had been.

Marcus’s power was built on silence. Today, that silence would end.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Alex

MITCHELL SATacross from me in the courthouse cafeteria, sliding a sandwich toward me with gentle insistence. “You need to eat something.”

I stared at the food without appetite. My stomach twisted with anxiety about testifying.

“Small bites,” Damian suggested, his own lunch untouched. “Even if you’re not hungry. You’ll need your strength.”

I forced myself to take a bite, the bread sticking in my throat. Mitchell and Damian maintained casual conversation about baseball statistics, creating a buffer of normalcy around me. I was grateful they didn’t press me to talk or ask how I was feeling.

The sandwich tasted like nothing. I managed three bites before pushing it away.

“That’s enough,” Damian said, checking his watch. “We should head back up. Ready?”

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