Chapter 13
Victoria testified against advice.
She wanted to perform.
She always did.
She wore pale blue.
Soft makeup.
No jewelry.
A costume of innocence.
Her lawyer asked if she loved Oliver.
She cried.
“I tried.”
My hands clenched.
“She was a stepmother under terrible pressure,” her lawyer said.
The prosecutor stood.
“Mrs. Vale, did pressure build the hidden chamber?”
Victoria swallowed.
“No.”
“Did pressure forge the death certificate?”
“No.”
“Did pressure tell a child his father stopped looking?”
Her face tightened.
“I was protecting Arthur.”
The courtroom reacted.
The prosecutor stepped closer.
“From his living son?”
Victoria looked at me.
For one second, I saw the truth in her eyes.
She had wanted me broken.
Dependent.
Grateful to her for holding me through grief she created.
“You enjoyed being needed,” the prosecutor said.
Victoria whispered, “He would have left me.”
“So you took his son?”
“He was going to choose Oliver over me.”
I stood before I realized it.
The judge warned me.
I sat.
The prosecutor’s voice went cold.
“He was a father.”
Victoria snapped, “He was my husband first!”
There it was.
The whole ugly heart of her.
The jury heard it.
The room heard it.
I heard the final thread of my marriage burn away.
Victoria received her verdict after nine hours.
Guilty.
When they led her out, she looked at me.
“I loved you.”
May you like
I answered softly.
“No. You loved owning my grief.”
