Page 75 of The Vegas Rerun
We stay like that for a long time. Not talking. Not moving.
Just breathing.
Together.
Later that evening, I complete the surprise. I drive Molly to the new house. When we pull into the driveway, Autumn is waiting in the front window with my mom, who loves her and Molly almost as much as I do. Autumn’s face lights up when she sees Molly.
“Mama,” she squeals as we step inside, barrelling into her legs.
Molly crouches down, scooping her up and clutching her to her chest.
“Hi, baby,” she says and plants a soft kiss on Autumn’s head.
I watch them for a long moment, something catching in my throat. This is what almost slipped through my fingers. And I won’t ever take it for granted again.
“Ready for the tour?” I ask and Molly nods her head and takes my hand, and I show her our new home.
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
CHAPTER 48
JOSHUA
The courtroom isheavy with silence when the judge starts reading out the verdict.
It’s funny, people always say your heart races in moments like this, but mine doesn’t. It slows down. It thuds in my chest like a warning bell, deliberate and cold. I sit in the gallery, my hands clenched tightly in my lap, my suit collar stiff against my neck, my eyes fixed on the woman seated at the defense table.
Sarah fucking Dawson.
She doesn’t look at me. She hasn’t looked at me once since the trial started. Not when I gave my testimony. Not when the security footage played on the monitor, showing her pointing a gun at Molly. Not when Molly took the stand with her voice steady and her spine straight, refusing to let Sarah rewrite the truth.
Even now, as the judge delivers the final words, she stares ahead, blank and unmoved.
“...having considered the overwhelming evidence presented by the prosecution, and the defendant’s continued lack ofremorse for her actions, this court finds the defendant guilty of attempted murder.”
A small sound escapes from someone behind me. A sharp inhale, maybe. A whisper of relief. But I don’t move. Don’t celebrate. I wait and I watch.
“The sentence is twenty years, with no possibility of parole for the first fifteen years. This court believes that the maximum penalty is warranted in light of the premeditated nature of the attack and the ongoing psychological trauma inflicted upon the victim.”
The gavel comes down like a full stop. And just like that, it’s done. Sarah flinches at the sound. It’s the first time she has reacted to anything all week.
She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t protest. But I see something crack behind her eyes as the bailiff cuffs her again and leads her away. That’s when I can finally breathe easy again.
Not specifically because she’s going to prison. But because it’s over. Because Molly is safe. Because the past can’t reach us anymore. I stand up and leave the courtroom behind me.
The sunlight outside is a punch of warmth, a nice contrast to the chill of the court room I have just left behind. I blink against the light, loosening my tie with one hand and pulling my cell phone from my pocket with the other. It’s past noon. I’ve spent four days in that courtroom, showing up for every minute of testimony, watching as Sarah’s lawyers tried to spin her story, to twist the facts. But they failed. The truth won.
I find Molly’s name in my contacts and hit call, bringing my cell phone up to my ear. She answers on the first ring.
“Hey,” she says. Her voice is soft. Hopeful.
“Guilty,” I tell her. “She got twenty years.”
There’s a pause, then a sharp exhale of relief.
“Thank God.”
“Yeah. The judge didn’t hold back. He said she showed no remorse, and I think he wanted to give her more time if he could.”
