Dear Sister, Never Again #ONC2022

Did Not Attend

The judge slams down the gavel, having sentenced Emily to six months in jail. None of this feels real. In the two months since my house was destroyed, I've been living on a razor's edge, bouncing from one motel to another so my own sister didn't track me down. I had to alert security at the hospital to inform them of the situation in case she showed up while I was working.

Still, when she turns back to look at me, her eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, I can't help but feel remorse. Regret for letting things get this far. The entire time I was on the witness stand, answering questions for the prosecutor and having my character called into question by the baby-faced defence attorney, I had to look away from the hate-filled brown eyes leering at me. This feels like a point of no return for our relationship. There's no chance now of her walking out of here and carrying on with her life.

But maybe this is what she needs to set her straight and make sure the rest of her life is worth living.

Emily is ushered out to be processed, tears streaming down her face. I've seen her fake tears more than I can count, but these look genuine. Maybe this will be the time she learns her lesson. Maybe the criminal justice system can rehabilitate her.

Once the judge exits the courtroom, I gather my purse from the bench. When I straighten, I'm met by a tall, bronze Adonis of a man staring back at me with soulful brown eyes.

"Hey."

I haven't seen or heard from Brett since our lunch, whatever-you-call-it, and got the impression it would stay that way forever. When he was called up to testify, I assumed he'd retell his accounting of events and leave. I was wrong.

"Hey," I reply.

We stare at each other for a few seconds until the commotion from other people startles me.

"How have you been?"

"Fine. No complaints." He tucks his thumbs into the belt loops of his uniform and rocks on his heels. "I've wanted to call you to, uh... to check in, but I didn't want to overstep."

"Kind of hard when you don't have my number. It's fine, Brett. My life is messy. You're safer at a distance."

"Police report."

I tilt my head, admiring how he pronounces his consonants with his subtle accent. "Huh?"

"Your number was on the police report, but using it felt a bit smarmy."

That makes sense... assuming "smarmy" means what I think it does. "Well, I'm glad you're doing okay. Maybe I'll see you around sometime." I step forward, wanting to end this conversation before it ticks off any more awkward boxes.

"Layla, I'm sorry for how we left things. Do you think we could... I don't know... could we try again? My treat?" He adds the cheesiest grin, which makes turning him down hard. Impossible, actually.

"Maybe a coffee. I've got to work at seven."

He lifts his arm to look at his watch. "Oh, it's 3 already. Were you going to have a nap or go rest?"

"No, I won't be able to sleep now. After everything that's happened today, I could use a distraction. Plus, I'm trying to cut corners by not getting a motel room every night." Why did I say that?

Brett scowls, looking up to where Emily was standing a few minutes ago. "You haven't been able to go back home yet?"

"No. The insurance company is dragging their feet, so I haven't gotten a pay out y—"

The court clerk interrupts our conversation to say the next trial is about to start, so Brett follows me out of the courtroom into the hallway.

"You were saying? Insurance? Bein' a bunch of wankers, are they?"