Chapter 7
The week before Michael’s trial, the prosecutor called.
He had an offer.
Michael was willing to plead guilty to all charges—three counts of attempted murder, fraud, embezzlement, conspiracy—if the prosecution agreed not to seek life without parole. In exchange, he’d get a definite sentence of forty years. With time off for good behavior, he could be out in twenty-five.
He’d be seventy when he got out.
The prosecutor wanted to know if I’d agree.
I sat at Dad’s kitchen table, the phone pressed to my ear, and thought about it.
Part of me wanted to say no. Wanted to go to trial. Wanted to stand in front of a jury and tell the world every terrible thing he’d done. Wanted to make sure he died in prison, alone and forgotten.
But the other part—the tired part, the part that just wanted it to be over—knew that a trial meant months more of waiting. Of reliving every terrible moment on the witness stand. Of seeing him every day, of hearing his voice, of letting him have even one more second of space in my head.
And Lily.
A trial meant she might have to testify. Might have to answer questions about her father, about that terrible morning, about all the things she’d worked so hard to put behind her. I couldn’t do that to her. Not after everything she’d already been through.
“I agree,” I said.
The relief in the prosecutor’s voice was obvious.
“Thank you, Ms. Davis. This is the right call. He’ll be formally sentenced next week. You’ll have the opportunity to give a victim impact statement, if you’d like.”
“I’d like that very much.”
I hung up the phone.
Dad, Olivia, and Lily were all in the living room, pretending they hadn’t been listening. Lily was “reading” a book upside down. Olivia was staring very intently at her nails. Dad was pretending to watch TV, but the volume was off.
I walked in.
“He’s pleading guilty,” I said. “All charges. Forty years. No trial.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Lily threw her book in the air and cheered. Olivia started crying, laughing and crying at the same time. Dad just nodded, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face.
“Good,” he said. “Very good.”
The sentencing was a week later.
We all went. Me, Dad, Olivia. Even Lily, though she waited in the hallway with the social worker. I didn’t want her in the courtroom, but I wanted her there, in the building, so she could feel that it was really, truly ending.
Michael was brought in.
He looked even worse than he had at the custody hearing. He’d lost weight. His hair was graying at the temples. His eyes were dead. There was no more rage. No more shouting. Just… nothing. Empty.
The judge read the charges. One by one. Each one worse than the last. The courtroom was packed—reporters, women from his previous marriages, their families, all there to see him finally get what he deserved.
When it was my turn to speak, I stood at the podium.
I held my mother’s letter in my hand, folded in my pocket. I didn’t need to read it. I knew every word by heart.
“Your Honor,” I began. “A little over a year ago, I stood in my kitchen on my tenth wedding anniversary and watched my entire life fall apart. My husband told me he was leaving me. My sister told me she’d been having an affair with him for seven years. And then my father walked in and told me the man I’d married had tried to kill me three times.”
I looked at Michael.
He didn’t look up.
“For ten years, I loved a ghost. A man who never existed. Every memory I have of our marriage is tainted. Every kiss. Every promise. Every ‘I love you.’ It was all a lie. And for a long time, I hated myself for it. For being so stupid. For being so blind. For not seeing what was right in front of me.”
I paused, taking a breath.
“But then something happened. I realized that his lies didn’t make me weak. They made me strong. Because I survived them. I survived the betrayal of my husband. I survived the betrayal of my sister. I survived three attempts on my life that I never even knew were happening. And I didn’t just survive. I thrived.”
I looked at Dad, sitting in the front row. At Olivia, beside him.
“I got my father back. The man who never stopped loving me, who never stopped watching out for me, even when I pushed him away. I got my sister back—not the woman she became, but the woman she was always meant to be, the one who’s spent every day since making up for her mistakes. And I have my daughter. The bravest, kindest, most amazing little girl in the world, who taught me that love is bigger than any lie, that forgiveness is stronger than any hate, and that family isn’t about who you’re related to by blood. It’s about who shows up. Every single day.”
I turned back to the judge.
“Marcus Webb took ten years of my life. But he didn’t break me. He made me better. Stronger. More grateful for every good thing I have. And today, I’m not here to ask for vengeance. I’m here to ask for closure. For me. For my daughter. For all the women who came before me and weren’t as lucky as I was.”
I looked at Michael one last time.
“I don’t hate you,” I said, and I meant it. “I pity you. Because you’re going to spend the next forty years in a cell, alone, with nothing but your own lies to keep you company. And I’m going to go home to my family. To my father. To my sister. To my beautiful daughter. I’m going to watch her grow up. I’m going to fall in love again, someday, with a man who’s worthy of me. I’m going to travel. I’m going to laugh. I’m going to live. And every single day of my happy, wonderful life will be the best revenge I could ever possibly get.”
I stepped away from the podium.
The judge called Michael forward.
“Marcus James Webb,” he said. “You have pled guilty to all charges. The evidence against you is overwhelming. The harm you have caused is incalculable. You have destroyed families. You have stolen fortunes. You have plotted to take the life of a woman who loved you, and the mother of your child.”
He leaned forward.
“It is the sentence of this court that you be confined in the state penitentiary for a period of not less than forty years. You will be eligible for parole only after serving a minimum of thirty-five years. Given your age and the nature of your crimes, it is highly unlikely you will ever be released. Take him away.”
The guards grabbed Michael’s arms.
He didn’t fight. He didn’t shout. He just let them lead him out, his head down, his shoulders slumped.
As the heavy doors slammed shut behind him, the courtroom erupted in quiet applause. The women from his previous marriages hugged each other, crying. Reporters scribbled furiously in their notebooks.
I walked out of the courtroom and into the hallway.
Lily was there, waiting. She ran to me, and I caught her, swinging her around.
“Is it really over, Mommy?” she asked.
“Really over, baby.”
She threw her little arms around my neck and squeezed.
“Can we get ice cream now? The biggest one they have? With sprinkles?”
I laughed through my tears.
“Absolutely. The biggest one they have. With all the sprinkles.”
We walked out of the courthouse together, the four of us, into the bright June sunshine.
May you like
No looking back.
Only forward.
