Chapter 11
The trial began six months later.
By then, Amelia could walk with a cane.
Lily had gained weight.
She laughed sometimes.
Not often.
But enough to make the house feel less haunted.
Nora wore white to court.
I almost laughed.
She looked like a bride who had mistaken trial for rehearsal.
The prosecutor played the teacup video first.
The jury watched me almost drink.
Lily running.
The slap.
The locket.
The birthmark.
Then Amelia’s old video.
Nora’s voice saying, “Enough.”
One juror cried.
Nora stared ahead.
Her mask held for two days.
Then Lily’s hidden phone videos played.
The cold room.
The maid uniform.
The threats.
The rehearsed smiles.
The jury saw the real Nora.
Not elegant.
Not wounded.
Hungry.
Amelia testified on day four.
I sat behind her with Lily’s hand in mine.
The prosecutor asked, “What kept you alive?”
Amelia looked at Lily.
“My daughter’s visits. Sometimes I could not see her. But I could hear her. So I sang.”
Nora’s attorney suggested Amelia’s memory was unreliable.
Amelia lifted her chin.
“My memory survived your client better than my body did.”
The room went silent.
I testified last.
I admitted I believed my father.
I admitted I stopped asking questions.
I admitted I had let Nora into my home.
The prosecutor asked, “Who saved you?”
I looked at Lily.
“My daughter.”
Lily squeezed my hand.
The verdict came after nine hours.
Guilty.
Attempted murder.
Kidnapping.
Child abuse.
Fraud.
False imprisonment.
Conspiracy.
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Nora finally cried.
No one believed her tears anymore.
