Chapter 14 - THE TRIAL BEGINSThe first day of trial smelled like rain and coffee.
I remember that more clearly than the cameras outside, more clearly than the reporters calling my name, more clearly than the way Jason turned around when I entered the courtroom.
Rain and coffee.
Ordinary things on an extraordinary day.
The courtroom was packed. Journalists filled one row. Jason’s relatives filled another, though most avoided looking at me. Sophie sat behind the prosecutor, pale but steady. Madison sat with her attorney near the aisle.
Diane and Charles were being tried separately later, but their names hovered over everything.
Jason stood when the jury entered.
He looked handsome.
That mattered, whether people admit it or not.
Clean shave. Dark suit. Soft eyes. The face of a man neighbors trusted to carry groceries. The face of a man doctors praised for attending appointments. The face of a husband who knew how to look worried at exactly the right angle.
The prosecutor knew it too.
In opening statements, Mara Ellison did not call him a monster.
She called him a planner.
“Monsters in stories look frightening,” she told the jury. “In real life, they make tea. They kiss foreheads. They attend doctor’s appointments and take notes. They learn exactly what a person needs to survive, then remove it.”
Jason’s jaw tightened.
Mara walked the jury through the timeline.
The flare.
The medication.
The trip.
The utilities.
The locks.
The emergency call.
The neighbor footage.
The recordings.
Seventy-four days.
“Jason Reeves did not make one mistake,” she said. “He made a checklist.”
Then Voss stood.
He was gentle.
Almost sorrowful.
He told the jury marriage was complicated. Illness was complicated. Caregiver stress was real. Natalie Reeves was not on trial, he said, but perception mattered. Jason had been overwhelmed. Madison had manipulated him. Diane had interfered. The house had old locks. The utility shutoffs were billing confusion. The medication removal was misunderstood.
Misunderstood.
I wondered how many women had been buried under that word.
Then the witnesses began.
The first officer described breaking through the back entrance.
The firefighter described finding me collapsed on the kitchen floor.
The 911 dispatcher cried on the stand when she heard my dropped call played aloud.
My voice came through the courtroom speakers as a rasping whisper.
Please. My husband locked me in. I need medicine. Please.
Some jurors looked away.
Jason did not.
He watched the jury watching me.
Still calculating.
Then came the photographs.
The locks.
The windows.
The empty pill organizer.
The utility confirmations.
The checklist.
When Mara projected Jason’s handwritten note onto the screen, the courtroom shifted.
No body until return.
Even Voss looked unhappy.
At lunch, I sat in a private room with Amelia and Dr. Mercer.
I could not eat.
Amelia slid crackers toward me.
“Two,” she said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Two crackers is not a meal. It’s an act of rebellion.”
So I ate them.
In the afternoon, Dr. Mercer testified.
She explained my illness without making me sound fragile. She explained medication interruption without drowning the jury in medical terms. She explained Jason’s presence at appointments.
“Did Mr. Reeves understand the risk?” Mara asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Mercer said.
“How do you know?”
“I personally explained it to him. He asked what would happen if she missed multiple doses.”
Jason’s lawyer objected.
Overruled.
Mara turned back.
“What did you tell him?”
Dr. Mercer looked at the jury.
“That she could die.”
The courtroom went silent.
That was the moment Jason stopped looking handsome.
May you like
Not because his face changed.
Because the jury’s eyes did.
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