Chapter 10
The trial date approached.
I wanted the trial.
Then I did not.
I imagined Mark sitting beneath fluorescent lights while the recording played.
Everyone hearing the kick.
The threat.
My breath.
I imagined answering questions about why I stayed.
Why I asked about Lena.
Why I crawled toward the phone instead of the door.
Why I had once written Mark an anniversary card calling him safe.
A defense attorney could use every hopeful sentence as contradiction.
Naomi explained that wanting a trial and fearing it could coexist.
The decision to accept a plea did not belong solely to me.
The prosecutor represented the public.
My views mattered.
So did evidence, risk, sentencing law, and protection.
Prosecutor Elena Brooks met me inside a small conference room.
“Mark has agreed to plead to felony domestic assault, financial fraud, witness tampering, and related endangerment conduct.”
“What sentence?”
She explained the negotiated range.
It was less than the maximum possible after trial.
More certain than a contested verdict.
“No contact?”
“With you, the child, Natalie, and Lena. Direct or indirect.”
“Forever?”
“The criminal order has a duration. Civil protection can be renewed under applicable standards.”
“Will he admit he kicked me?”
“Yes.”
“Will he say I fell?”
“No.”
“Will he admit he intended to hurt the baby?”
“The plea language states he intentionally assaulted you while knowing you were pregnant. It does not require him to admit a specific intent to cause fetal death.”
I hated the distinction.
It was legally honest.
“Can I speak at sentencing?”
“Yes.”
I asked for one day.
That night, the baby moved beneath my ribs.
I thought about certainty.
A trial might produce a stronger sentence.
It might also produce acquittals on some charges.
Mark had spent years turning complexity into doubt.
The recording narrowed that space.
The plea locked in the central truth.
He kicked me.
He knew I was pregnant.
He tried to create a false story.
He stole money.
He interfered with witnesses.
I told Brooks I would not oppose the agreement.
I did not forgive.
I did not rescue him.
I chose a route that protected the record and reduced the chance of prolonged contact.
Mark entered the plea one week later.
The judge asked:
“Did you intentionally strike Sarah Collins with your foot?”
“Yes.”
“Was she visibly pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her to claim she had fallen?”
“Yes.”
“Did you place a recording device in the kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His attorney objected that motive exceeded the required factual basis.
The judge did not force unnecessary detail.
I still heard enough.
Yes.
Yes.
May you like
Yes.
The word he demanded from me for four years finally belonged to the court.
