Chapter 175
Marcus’s POV – Six Months Later
Six months had changed everything.
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Alexander and Catherine were sitting up now, grabbing at everything within reach and making sounds that weren’t quite words but were getting close. They’d started on solid foods two weeks ago and breakfast had become a messy production that required bibs, patience, and a sense of humor.
Marcus was spooning mashed banana into Alexander’s mouth when Elara walked into the kitchen holding an envelope, her face pale.
“It’s from the District Attorney’s office,” she said quietly.
Marcus set down the spoon. Alexander immediately protested, banging his tiny fists on the high chair tray. Catherine watched her brother from her own seat, her serious blue eyes tracking every movement.
“Open it,” Marcus said.
Elara tore the envelope and scanned the letter. “Penelope’s trial is scheduled for three weeks from now. They want you to testify and deliver a victim impact statement.”
Marcus felt something cold settle in his stomach. He’d known this was coming. Penelope had been sitting in jail for six months awaiting trial, and the prosecutors had warned him they’d need his testimony to establish the emotional impact of his mother’s murder.
But knowing it was coming and actually facing it were different things entirely.
“Three weeks,” Marcus repeated.
“You don’t have to do it. The DA said the victim impact statement is optional.”
“No, I want to. I need to.” Marcus looked at his children. Alexander had a banana smeared across his face and Catherine was reaching for her own spoon with determined concentration. “Mom deserves to have someone speak for her. To make sure the jury understands what Penelope took from our family.”
Elara came over and wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Then I’ll be there with you. Every single day of the trial.”
Over the next three weeks Marcus worked with the DA’s office to prepare his statement. They gave him guidelines about what to include, how long it should be, what kind of language would be most effective with a jury.
But every time he sat down to write, the words felt wrong. Too clinical, too detached, like he was describing someone else’s mother.
He was staring at a blank page one evening when Elara walked in carrying a photo album.
“I found this in storage,” she said, setting it on his desk. “Your father gave it to me months ago. Pictures of your mother.”
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Chapter 175
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Marcus opened the album and felt his throat tighten. His mother at his fifth birthday party, laughing as he blew out candles. His mother at his high school graduation, tears streaming down her face His mother and father on their twentieth anniversary, dancing while teenage Marcus pretended to be embarrassed.
“She was beautiful,” Elara said softly. “You have her smile.”
Marcus traced his finger over one photo. His mother in her garden, dirt on her hands and joy on her face. This was one of the pictures taken from one of her birthday.
“Tell the jury about her,” Elara continued. “Not about what Penelope took, but about who she was. Make them see her as a real person instead of just a victim.”
That night Marcus rewrote his entire statement. He wrote about his mother’s terrible singing voice and her excellent cooking. About how she’d taught him to read using comic books because traditional primers bored him. About the way she’d believed in him even when he’d doubted himself.
He wrote about the hole her death had left in their family. About his father’s descent into grief. About growing up without her guidance through college and career and marriage.
And he wrote about his children, Alexander and Catherine, who would never know their grandmother because someone had decided one woman’s life was less important than her own convenience.
The morning of the trial Marcus put on his best suit and tried not to throw up. Elara stood beside him in the bathroom, rubbing circles on his back while he leaned over the sink taking deep breaths.
“You can do this,” she said. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
“I don’t feel strong. I feel like that seventeen-year-old kid who got a phone call in the middle of the night telling him his mother was dead.”
“That kid grew up to be an incredible man. An incredible father. Your mother would be so proud of who you’ve become.”
Marcus straightened up and looked at himself in the mirror. He did look like his mother. Same dark eyes, same stubborn jaw, same expression of determination when facing something difficult.
He could do this. He owed it to her to do this.
The courthouse was packed when they arrived. News cameras lined the steps, reporters shouting questions that Marcus ignored. Dante met them at the entrance and guided them through security to a private waiting room where the DA was already preparing.
“Mr. Thorne,” the DA said, extending her hand. “I’m Sarah Mitchell. Thank you for being here today.”
“I want to make sure justice is served.”
“We all do. Your testimony is going to be crucial in establishing the human cost of Mrs. Thorne’s actions.” She pulled out a folder. “I need to prepare you for what to expect. Penelope’s defense attorney is going to try to paint this as a tragic accident. They’ll argue she was drinking and made a terrible mistake, but that there was no malicious intent.”
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Chapter 175
“She saw my mother and didn’t brake as hard as she could have. That’s not an accident.”
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“I agree. But we need to prove it to a jury. Your statement will help them understand the magnitude of what was lost that night.”
They went over the timeline again. When Marcus would testify, what questions the prosecution would ask, what the defense might try to argue. It all felt surreal, like he was preparing for a performance rather than reliving the worst moment of his life.
Finally it was time. The bailiff called the court to order and everyone filed into the courtroom. Marcus sat in the front row behind the prosecution table with Elara on one side and Dante on the other.
And then Penelope was led in.
She was wearing an orange jumpsuit that washed out her complexion. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun and she’d lost weight since Marcus had last seen her. Prison was not being kind.
But her eyes were the same. Sharp and calculating, scanning the courtroom like she was still looking for angles and opportunities.
When her gaze landed on Marcus, she smiled.
Not a friendly smile or a remorseful smile. A cold smile that said she knew exactly what she’d done and didn’t regret any of it.
Marcus felt rage building in his chest but forced himself to stay still, to keep his expression neutral. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing how much she still affected him.
The judge entered and everyone stood. Opening statements began. The prosecution laid out their case methodically, walking the jury through the evidence. The traffic camera footage, the body shop records, the witness testimony. Building brick by brick toward a conclusion of guilt.
Penelope’s attorney countered with sympathy. His client had made a terrible mistake fifteen years ago. She’d been drinking, had poor judgment, had panicked when she realized what she’d done. But she’d lived with that guilt every day since. She’d tried to atone by caring for the victim’s widowed husband, by being part of the family she’d inadvertently destroyed.
It was a masterful performance. The attorney’s voice dripped with compassion and regret. If Marcus hadn’t known the truth, he might have believed it himself.
But he did know the truth. And tomorrow he’d make sure the jury knew it too.
Court adjourned for the day and Penelope was led back out. But as she passed Marcus’s row, she stopped and turned to look directly at him.
Their eyes met and held. Marcus saw no remorse in her gaze. No guilt or shame or recognition of the pain she’d caused.
Just cold calculation, like she was still trying to figure out how to win.
The bailiff moved to guide her away but Penelope kept staring, that small smile still playing at the corners of
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Chapter 175
her mouth.
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And Marcus knew with absolute certainty that even now, even facing life in prison, Penelope didn’t regret killing his mother.
She only regretted getting caught.
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