She told me stories about her grandchildren, about the cruise she and Uncle Frank were planning for their anniversary, about the book club drama in her neighborhood. normal things, grounding things. One evening, she broke the unspoken rule and brought up the trial directly. “Are you scared?” she asked, setting down her fork.
“I considered lying, then decided she deserved honesty, terrified of seeing him again. Of having to relive it all in front of strangers, of the possibility that somehow, despite everything, he might walk away from this. “He won’t,” she said firmly. The video doesn’t lie. Rebecca, the jury will see exactly what kind of man he is. Mom’s going to testify for him.
She’s going to try to make me look like the villain. Aunt Diane’s expression hardened. Your mother has been making excuses for his behavior for 40 years. This is just more of the same. But the difference is this time there are consequences. She can’t talk her way around. She reached across the table and took my hand.
Your father was always the golden child in our family. My parents spoiled him rotten because he was the baby, the only son after three daughters. He grew up believing the world revolved around him, that his anger was justified, that other people existed to serve his needs. I watched him bully you your entire childhood, and I’m ashamed I didn’t do more to stop it.
It wasn’t your responsibility to fix him, I said quietly. Maybe not, but I could have been louder. I could have called him out more. I could have made sure you knew that his treatment of you wasn’t normal or acceptable. She squeezed my hand. I’m calling him out now. I’m testifying for the prosecution. I stared at her.
