Chapter 12 - The Pathetic Pleas from a Broken Cell
The following weeks passed in a blur of intense,
relentless legal proceedings,
involving countless,
exhausting interviews with federal prosecutors,
reliving the horrific,
gruesome details of my attempted murder over and over again,
ensuring their absolute,
guaranteed conviction.
Sarah had finally flown down to be by my side,
refusing to let me face the massive,
intimidating judicial system alone,
her fierce,
protective presence acting as an impenetrable,
comforting shield against the aggressive,
desperate defense attorneys they had managed to hire with their dwindling,
frozen funds.
I was sitting in the sterile,
brightly lit waiting room of my new,
highly recommended obstetrician,
enjoying a rare,
quiet moment of peace,
when my newly issued,
secure cell phone began to vibrate violently in my purse.
The caller ID displayed a generic,
automated federal prison number,
sending a sudden,
icy jolt of pure adrenaline straight through my veins,
making my breath catch painfully in my tight,
constricted throat.
I almost declined the agonizing,
unwanted call,
but a dark,
morbid curiosity compelled me to slide my trembling finger across the smooth glass screen,
pressing the phone slowly,
cautiously to my ear.
"Please,"
my husband's voice begged immediately,
sounding incredibly weak,
pathetic,
and entirely stripped of the arrogant,
entitled confidence he had always worn like a protective,
expensive armor.
"Please do not hang up on me,"
he sobbed openly,
the sound of his genuine,
unfiltered despair echoing through the crackling,
recorded line,
"I am so incredibly,
unbelievably sorry for everything I did to you,
I was so blind,
so terribly brainwashed by her."
I sat perfectly still,
listening to the pathetic,
whining excuses of the man who had actively,
willingly shoveled cold,
heavy dirt onto my pregnant,
helpless body,
feeling absolutely no sympathy,
feeling only a cold,
hollow disgust.
"You watched me bleed,"
I replied softly,
my voice steady,
calm,
and completely devoid of any lingering affection,
cutting through his frantic,
desperate apologies like a sharp,
unforgiving blade.
"You stole my phone,
you ignored my desperate,
terrified screams,
and you walked away leaving your own innocent child to slowly,
agonizingly suffocate in the dark,"
I reminded him brutally,
refusing to let him rewrite the horrific,
unforgivable history of that terrible day.
He choked on a loud,
heaving sob,
stammering wildly,
trying desperately to shift the massive,
crushing blame onto his domineering mother,
claiming he was terrified for his own life,
claiming he had no other choice but to obey her wicked,
insane commands.
"You are a coward,"
I stated simply,
the absolute,
undeniable truth of the words hanging heavily in the tense,
charged air,
"and cowards do not deserve forgiveness,
they do not deserve a second chance,
and they certainly do not deserve to be fathers."
Before he could formulate another weak,
pathetic excuse,
I firmly pressed the bright red button,
disconnecting the miserable,
depressing call,
blocking the institutional number permanently,
erasing his pathetic voice from my life forever.
The kind,
soft-spoken doctor called my name just moments later,
leading me into the warm,
comforting ultrasound room,
dimming the harsh overhead lights,
squelching warm,
soothing gel onto my swollen,
round stomach.
As the familiar,
rapid rhythm of my baby's strong,
healthy heartbeat filled the quiet,
peaceful room,
a massive,
overwhelming wave of pure,
unadulterated love washed away the lingering,
toxic residue of my husband's phone call.
I looked at the small,
flickering black and white screen,
seeing the perfectly formed,
tiny features of my beautiful,
resilient child,
knowing with absolute,
unshakeable certainty that every single moment of pain,
terror,
May you like
and desperate struggle had been completely,
undeniably worth it.
