Chapter 8
The jury deliberated for three days.
Three of the longest days of my life.
I spent most of them at the hospital with my mom, or at the foundation, talking to the women in the support group.
I tried not to think about the trial.
Tried not to imagine Daniel and Lila walking free.
Mia called me every night, telling me not to worry, that the evidence was overwhelming, that juries hated people who stole from sick old ladies.
But still.
I was scared.
On the third night, I couldn’t sleep.
I got out of bed and went to the window of the apartment Uncle Arthur had lent me.
The city lights twinkled below.
I thought about the day I’d married Daniel.
I’d been twenty-two, so young, so sure he was my forever.
I’d worn my mom’s wedding dress.
My dad’s brother—Uncle Arthur—had walked me down the aisle.
We’d danced to my parents’ song.
I’d thought my life was perfect.
How wrong I’d been.
But then I thought about now.
About my mom, getting better every day.
About Mia, my best friend back in my life.
About Uncle Arthur, who’d stood by me even when I was too ashamed to call him.
About the women in the support group, who told me I’d given them the courage to leave their own abusers.
I had more now than I’d ever had when I was married to Daniel.
I had love.
I had respect.
I had purpose.
Whatever happened tomorrow, I was already the luckiest person in the world.
The next morning, Mia called at nine.
“The jury’s back,” she said. “We have to be at the courthouse in an hour.”
My hands shook as I got dressed.
I wore the same black dress I’d worn to the board meeting.
My wrist was fully healed now, no more bandage, just a faint white scar that I’d come to think of as a reminder of how strong I was.
Uncle Arthur drove me and my mom to the courthouse.
The press was there again, but they were quiet this time, respectful.
We walked into the courtroom.
Daniel and Lila were already there.
Daniel looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.
His eyes were bloodshot, his suit wrinkled.
Lila was picking at her nails, her face blank, like she already knew what was coming.
The judge walked in.
Everyone stood.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” the judge asked.
The foreman stood.
“We have, Your Honor.”
He handed the bailiff a piece of paper.
The bailiff read it aloud.
“On the count of felony embezzlement against Daniel Hale… we find the defendant, guilty.”
A quiet cheer went up from the gallery.
The judge banged his gavel.
“On the count of conspiracy to commit fraud against Daniel Hale… guilty.”
“On the count of domestic abuse against Daniel Hale… guilty.”
“On the count of conspiracy to commit assault against Daniel Hale… guilty.”
Four guilty counts for Daniel.
Then Lila.
“On the count of felony embezzlement against Lila Voss… guilty.”
“On the count of conspiracy to commit fraud against Lila Voss… guilty.”
“On the count of assault against Lila Voss… guilty.”
Three guilty counts for Lila.
Daniel collapsed back into his chair, his face in his hands.
Lila just stared straight ahead, no expression at all.
The judge set sentencing for the following week.
We walked out of the courtroom.
The sun was shining, bright and warm on my face.
Reporters surrounded us, but Mia held them off.
My mom hugged me so tight I could barely breathe.
“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered in my ear. “Your dad would be so proud of you.”
Uncle Arthur clapped me on the back.
“Told you we’d win,” he said, his eyes wet.
Mia hugged me next.
“One more thing to take care of,” she said, grinning. “The divorce hearing is this afternoon. Ready to be officially single?”
I laughed.
I’d almost forgotten about the divorce.
“More than ready,” I said.
The divorce hearing was quick.
Daniel didn’t even show up.
His lawyer signed the papers.
The judge granted the divorce, effective immediately.
I got 100% of the marital assets—my house, my car, my savings, everything Daniel had tried to take.
Daniel was ordered to pay $1.2 million in restitution for the money they’d stolen and spent.
And because of the domestic abuse conviction, he was required to stay at least five hundred feet away from me, my mom, and Uncle Arthur for the rest of his life.
I walked out of the courthouse that afternoon, a free woman.
I stopped on the steps and took a deep breath.
The air smelled like fall, like crisp leaves and cinnamon.
For the first time in three years, I had no weight on my shoulders.
No fear.
No shame.
Just… peace.
May you like
And excitement.
For whatever came next.
