Chapter 2 - The Voice of Authority

The audio recording echoed through the sterile courtroom.

Every word was crystal clear. Sylvia’s cruel mocking. The sound of her hands slamming into my shoulders. My desperate gasp for breath. The sound of my phone shattering against the wall.

And then, David’s cold, polished voice: “There will be no ambulance. The neighbors will talk. I just got promoted. I don’t need police cars in my driveway on Christmas.”

The bailiff looked disgusted. The court reporter stopped typing for a moment, her eyes wide with horror.

Sylvia, who was sitting in the front row of the gallery, buried her face in her hands and began sobbing uncontrollably. The wealthy society friends she had brought for moral support physically inched away from her on the wooden bench, treating her like a pariah.

“Your Honor,” I said, cutting off the recording. “My husband claimed he was a lawyer, and therefore I could never win against him. But David Vance isn't a lawyer today. He’s unemployed. He’s under investigation for domestic endangerment. And as of this morning, the State Bar Association has suspended his license pending a full ethics review.”

David collapsed into his chair. He put his head in his hands, completely broken. His sleazy attorney slowly closed his briefcase, realizing that continuing this fight was a form of professional suicide.

“The protective order is granted indefinitely,” the judge ruled immediately, banging his gavel as if he couldn't wait to end the proceedings. “Temporary sole custody of the unborn child is awarded to the plaintiff. The defendant is ordered to vacate the marital residence within twenty-four hours. Furthermore, based on the audio evidence presented, I am referring Sylvia Vance to the District Attorney's office for criminal assault charges.”

Sylvia shrieked, collapsing into a heap on the floor.

Court was dismissed.

As I walked out from behind the plaintiff's table, David stepped in front of me. The bravado was completely gone. His eyes were red, filled with tears of absolute desperation.

“Anna, please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “I have nothing. I lost my job. I’m bankrupt. My mother is going to jail. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t take my child away from me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I looked at the man I had once loved. The man who had stood by and watched his mother torture me. The man who cared more about his driveway and his golf buddies than the life of his own child.

I didn't feel anger anymore. I just felt an overwhelming sense of pity.

“You didn’t lose everything because of me, David,” I said softly, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “You lost everything because you thought privacy meant weakness. You thought cruelty was power. You were wrong about both.”

I stepped around him and walked through the double doors of the courtroom. My father was waiting for me in the marble hallway. He didn't ask how it went. He already knew. He held out his arm, and I took it, walking out of the courthouse and into the bright, freezing winter sunlight.