Chapter 6
Victoria’s trial took months.
During that time, the house became ours again.
Slowly.
At first, the children slept in my room.
Then Ethan moved to a mattress on the floor beside my bed.
Then his own room with the door open.
Maya followed two weeks later.
She insisted Bunny sleep facing the hallway.
“Watch,” she said.
“Good idea,” I told her.
Ethan became quieter.
Older somehow.
That scared me.
One night I found him in the kitchen making Maya a peanut butter sandwich at midnight.
“She had a bad dream,” he said.
“I can make it.”
“I know how.”
“I know you do. But you don’t have to be the parent.”
He looked down.
“What am I supposed to do when she cries?”
“Wake me.”
“What if you’re tired?”
“I’m her dad. I’m allowed to be tired.”
He thought about that.
Then handed me the knife.
“Okay.”
That was a victory.
Small.
Huge.
At trial, Ethan testified by recorded interview.
Maya did not have to.
The video from the living room played again.
The pantry photos were shown.
Dr. Hall testified about trauma signs.
Victoria cried on the stand and said she had been overwhelmed by “difficult children.”
The prosecutor asked, “What made Maya difficult?”
Victoria sniffed.
“She cried constantly.”
“After being locked in a pantry?”
Victoria’s mouth shut.
She was convicted.
Prison time.
Probation after release.
Permanent no-contact order.
Mandatory restitution for the children’s therapy.
When the verdict came, I felt no joy.
May you like
Only air.
Like I had been holding my breath for a year.
