Chapter 7 - MY PLATE
My misdemeanor case came before Marcelline’s.
I hated that.
Then realized ordering justice according to emotional importance was not how courts worked.
Video showed me throwing the plate.
Marcelline had already released photos of her cut online through friends.
Comments divided instantly.
Protective mother.
Violent woman.
Rich family drama.
I refused to participate.
The prosecutor offered:
Plea to misdemeanor assault.
Fine.
Restitution for medical costs and damaged clothing.
Anger-management class.
Six months unsupervised probation if no further incidents.
I took it.
Naomi asked:
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
I had thrown a ceramic plate hard enough to cut someone.
The fact she had abused my child explained my state.
Did not make the plate safe.
At sentencing I said:
“I was furious and I chose violence after I had other options.”
That was it.
No speech about motherhood.
The judge accepted the plea.
Marcelline attended.
Smiled afterward.
“You’re officially violent now.”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
Her smile faltered.
She wanted denial.
I gave her ownership.
Then:
“And you still have your own case.”
I left.
Piers asked about the class.
“What do you do?”
“Learn how not to throw plates.”
He laughed.
Then stopped himself.
“Was it bad?”
“Yes.”
“She deserved it.”
“No one deserves to be hit with breakable objects because I’m angry.”
He thought.
“Can you yell?”
“Sometimes.”
“Can you leave?”
“Yes.”
“Can you call police?”
“Yes.”
“Can you throw pillow?”
“At home, maybe.”
He approved.
Good.
My consequence became useful only if it changed something.
Then Everett sent a letter.
Not romantic.
An apology.
He wrote:
I know Marcelline’s lies changed the last four months. They do not change the first ten.
He counted correctly.
Then:
I abandoned you before anyone helped me stay gone.
Also correct.
He asked for no forgiveness.
Only permission to begin supervised contact with Piers if professionals believed it safe.
I discussed it with Maya.
Piers asked:
“Is Daddy sick?”
“He was.”
“Still?”
“He’s recovering.”
“Did he leave because me?”
“No.”
“Because you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he was using medicine in a dangerous way and got scared after making serious mistakes.”
Piers absorbed that.
“Can I see?”
“Do you want to?”
He whispered:
“Maybe.”
Then the child-welfare investigator called.
She had obtained Marcelline’s household meal logs.
Yes.
Meal logs.
Her chef tracked prepared meals.
On days Piers stayed there, child portions were frequently listed as:
basic.
alternate.
discipline hold.
Discipline hold.
May you like
Food withholding had been organized enough to have a category.
And Marcelline’s signature appeared beside it.
