The Wrong Kind of Love

"Fine. I was treated well," I say quickly.

She nods as though agreeing with me. "When the prison physician inspected you upon your initial arrest, he reported several concerning injuries, inflicted during your time as a hostage."

Hushed gasps fall over the jury, their attention focused on the screen at the side of the room displaying photographs of the scars that cover my back and throat. When I glance at Jude, his jaw is ticcing.

"That wasn't him." I’m ashamed of the fact that this entire room of people have seen the scars I only allow Jude to see. "It wasn't him," I repeat. He may ask a lot of me, but I will not say that Jude is anything like Bob or Tom. I won’t.

"But it happened while you were in his care, did it not?"

"It..." I pause. I know what I'm supposed to say, what Jude wants me to say. "It happened whilst he held me hostage, yes.”

"So, you would agree then that you were not treated 'well?’" Without missing a beat, she goes on to her next question. The solicitor's gaze flicks to my stomach. "Can you tell me who the father of your unborn child is, Miss Deveaux?"

I glance down at the bump, the only thing I have left of Jude. "That's not relevant.”

The judge sighs. "Miss Deveaux, please answer the question." I can't lie because a simple DNA test would prove I lied, and if I say he's the father, I will have to say...

"Jude," I breathe as tears slip down my cheek.

"And how did you become pregnant, Miss Deveaux?"

"I..." I focus on Jude. I love him. How can he expect me to say this?

"I'll rephrase. Did Mr. Pearson force himself on you, Miss Deveaux?"

There's a heavy silence in the room. Jude gives me a small nod. I close my eyes. The pounding bass of my pulse drowns out everything until I feel like I'm underwater, disconnected from this awful reality. "Yes," I whisper. Whatever Jude and I had, I just took a match to it and burned it to ash with one word.

"I have no further questions, Your Honor.” She gives me one last sympathetic glance.

An officer guides me from the stand, leading me back to my place beside my crying sister. "Oh, God, Victoria." She wraps her arms around me, but I think it's more for herself than me.

She's breaking down because she thinks her baby sister got raped and knocked up by a murderer. I love her, but she will never understand this. There are some things that bond two people irrevocably. Jude and I have suffered loss and pain, the kind of pain that destroys you until all you have left is each other.

And I just condemned him.

Jude

The officer closes the door to the holding room, locking me in solitude while one single word replays through my head: Yes.

I told her to say it, but damn, it still hurt. It hurt to be so close to her and not be able to touch her, because she looks so damn beautiful, glowing with pregnancy. Seeing her was a harsh reminder of everything I’m losing. Her and our child. A child whose sex I don’t even know because I’m not allowed any communication with her. It took an act of God to get my lawyer to hand-deliver that letter to her last week. I don’t expect I’ll ever see a picture of our baby, ever know its name—unless she is able to talk to Marney.

Over the hours the jury deliberates, all I can think about is her. The way she looked so damn broken in those moments of hesitation after the prosecutor asked her if I forced myself on her.

Every damn night as I lie on my cot, I dream about what it would be like to have my arm around her, my hand on her stomach, feeling our baby move inside her. I think about the life I’ll never know, and I worry about what the future holds for her. I wonder what our child will think when they eventually grow up and find out who I am, who their mother is, and how they came to exist. The last thing I want our child to believe is that they are the result of something awful. They’re not. They are the result of a bad situation that breathed life into me. I tumble down dark rabbit holes of what-ifs until an officer steps inside the room and escorts me back to the courtroom.

The moment I go through the side door, all eyes in the room are on me, except Tor’s. I make my way to my seat and stand beside my lawyer, ignoring the disgusted look some of the jurors cast my way as the judge walks in. I know damn well I will be found guilty on every count I’m charged with. I’ve accepted that.