Chapter 3 - The Trial of Greed
Three months later, I walked into the courtroom under my own power. My hair had grown back, hiding the jagged scar on my temple. My kidneys were functioning perfectly.
The trial was brief. My mother’s lawyers tried to paint a picture of a "distressed mother" trying to help a "mentally unstable daughter." But the defense crumbled when the lead prosecutor projected the video feed from my hospital room onto the massive screens in the courtroom.
The entire gallery went silent as the footage played. They saw my mother’s face turn from manipulative calm to savage, unadulterated hatred. They heard my father’s instruction to "watch my tone." They saw Connor’s cowardly silence.
The jury didn't take an hour to deliberate.
My mother was sentenced to six years in state prison for aggravated battery and felony abuse of a vulnerable person. My father was hit with charges of obstruction of justice and aiding and abetting, resulting in a three-year sentence.
Connor, having flipped on them, was given probation and ordered to undergo mandatory community service. He tried to approach me outside the courthouse, his designer hoodie looking cheap and dirty in the sunlight.
"Maya, wait," he pleaded. "We can talk, right? You’re the only one left."
May you like
I didn't stop walking. I didn't even look at him.
"You’re not family, Connor," I said, my voice cold and final. "You’re just a ghost I’m finished haunting."
