Chapter 24 - I TESTIFY ABOUT THE DOOR
The prosecutor asked:
“What did Dorothy say before you entered the room?”
“She told me I needed to stay away from the ballroom until the ceremony began.”
“Did you agree?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“I turned toward the ballroom. She grabbed my upper arm and shoulder, pushed me through the doorway. I hit the wall and slid down.”
“Did she lock the door?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ask to be released?”
“Yes.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
“When did you first notice fluid?”
“Immediately after I reached the floor.”
“Can you say Dorothy caused your membranes to rupture?”
“No.”
That mattered.
Defense began.
“Mrs. Reeves, you had contractions earlier that day?”
“Yes.”
“You did not tell your husband?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I did not want the pregnancy to become another argument about the wedding.”
“So you concealed medical information?”
“I concealed irregular contractions that had stopped and did not meet the instructions I had been given for urgent evaluation.”
“Could labor already have been beginning?”
“Yes.”
“Could your membranes have ruptured regardless of Dorothy’s conduct?”
“Yes.”
Good.
Truth.
Then:
“You argued with Dorothy before the shove?”
“Yes.”
“You called her controlling?”
“Yes.”
“She called you selfish?”
“Yes.”
“You moved toward her?”
“No. I moved toward the ballroom door.”
“Were you physically capable of leaving the changing room through another exit?”
“No.”
“Window?”
“No.”
“Phone?”
“No.”
“Emergency button?”
“No.”
“Were you inside more than ten minutes?”
“No.”
“Five?”
The verified timeline from lock to Dad forcing it open was four minutes, nine seconds.
“No.”
“Physically injured severely?”
“No.”
“Your daughter is healthy today?”
“Yes.”
No exaggeration.
Then:
“Why are we here?”
The judge frowned.
My attorney objected.
Sustained.
I wanted to answer anyway.
May you like
Because four minutes still belong to the person whose freedom you take.
I did not.
