Chapter 9
The trial started two months later.
It was the biggest trial our city had seen in twenty years.
Every seat in the courtroom was taken.
Cameras were banned inside, but reporters lined the hallways, waiting for updates.
Natalie looked different this time.
No fake tears.
No sweet little girl act.
She sat at the defense table, slouched in her chair, chewing gum, staring daggers at me the whole time.
Moe Rainer had quit.
He’d dropped her as a client the night of the break-in.
Said he didn’t represent people who tried to burn down houses.
She had a public defender now.
A young kid who looked like he’d never tried a case in his life.
He tried.
He really did.
But the evidence was overwhelming.
The prosecution called witness after witness.
Greg Miller testified about the marriage, the stolen money, the three years he’d spent looking for her.
Chloe testified about the rehearsal dinner, the texts, Natalie’s constant talk about the $120 million.
The waiter from the wedding testified about overhearing her brag about shaving my head.
Maria the housekeeper testified about seeing Natalie leave my house at 4 a.m. with the black duffel bag.
The security guard testified about the footage.
The police officers testified about the night of the break-in, the knife, the gasoline, the lighter.
The doctors testified about Jackson’s concussion.
Ray the PI testified about her aliases, her criminal record, the warrant from Chicago.
They played the security footage for the jury.
All two hours of it.
The jury watched every second.
They watched her shave my head.
They watched her cut up my dress.
They watched her pry open the safe and steal Frank’s things.
They watched her blow a kiss to the camera.
There was no way to fake that.
No way to explain it away.
When Natalie took the stand in her own defense, she was a disaster.
She ranted.
She raved.
She called the witnesses liars.
She called the judge a racist.
She called the prosecutor a pervert.
She pointed at me and screamed, “She’s a witch! She put a spell on all of you!”
The jury didn’t buy a word of it.
They deliberated for six hours.
When they came back, the foreman stood up.
“On the charge of bigamy, we find the defendant guilty.”
“On the charge of burglary, we find the defendant guilty.”
“On the charge of attempted arson, we find the defendant guilty.”
“On the charge of aggravated assault, we find the defendant guilty.”
“On the charge of terroristic threats, we find the defendant guilty.”
“On the charge of perjury, we find the defendant guilty.”
“On the charge of felony theft, we find the defendant guilty.”
Guilty on all seven counts.
Natalie didn’t react.
She just sat there, chewing her gum, staring at the wall.
The judge sentenced her two weeks later.
“Natalie Jean Miller,” she said, looking down at her from the bench. “You are a serial liar, a thief, and a danger to society. You targeted a grieving family for their money. You manipulated a vulnerable man. You humiliated an innocent woman. You tried to burn three people alive in their home. You have shown absolutely no remorse for any of your actions. It is the sentence of this court that you be committed to the state correctional facility for a period of twelve years, with no possibility of parole for eight.”
The bailiffs took her away.
As they led her out, she looked over her shoulder at Jackson.
“You’ll regret this,” she said, calm. “You’ll never find anyone who loves you like I did.”
Jackson didn’t even flinch.
He held my hand.
Squeezed it.
We walked out of the courthouse together.
The sun was shining.
The reporters yelled questions.
We didn’t answer a single one.
We got in the car.
Jackson drove us to the cemetery.
We walked to Frank’s grave.
The headstone was simple.
**FRANK HALE**
**1955–2023**
**BELOVED HUSBAND, FATHER, SOLDIER**
Jackson knelt down.
He placed a single sunflower on the grave.
Frank’s favorite.
“Hey, Dad,” he said, his voice thick. “I messed up. Bad. But I fixed it. Mom’s safe. Our family’s safe. I’m gonna make you proud. I promise.”
I knelt beside him.
I placed my hand on the cold stone.
“We did it, baby,” I whispered. “We kept our promise.”
We sat there for a long time.
Neither of us said anything.
There was nothing left to say.
May you like
The nightmare was over.
Now we had to learn how to live again.
