Hell Hath No Fury (ReWrite)

Whispers of Control

The courtroom was silent, except for the low hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the occasional rustle of papers as the jury filed in. I sat at the defendant's table, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird, each beat echoing the weight of my memories. Theresa , they called me, but all I could think about was Neveah- the sweet, innocent girl I'd fought to protect-and the darkness that had woven itself through my life like a poison ivy vine, choking everything in its path.

    A sharp voice pierced the air with a deepening tone, "Can you describe the events that led up to the confrontation with Jonathan" I felt a lump swell up in my throat, the burning sensation settling in. This is the first time that's happened since I've been in cuffs. I cleared my throat, trying to steady myself, but the words stuck. I glanced down at my hands, still trembling slightly from the weight of the cuffs that had been on them just hours before.

"I..." The word came out as a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the room. I could feel the eyes of the jury on me, waiting, judging.

A sigh escaped me as I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table for strength. "It started like any other day. But it was different, too." My voice cracked, memories flooding back faster than I could control. "He was angrier than usual. There was something in his eyes..."

I paused, the image of Jonathan's eyes flashing in my mind—cold, dark, filled with a rage I had grown accustomed to, but feared more than anything. The prosecutor's sharp gaze bore into me, urging me to continue.

"I came home... and that's when I saw him with Neveah. I..." My breath hitched, and I could feel the room closing in, the walls suffocating me under the weight of what I was about to say.

The silence in the courtroom deepened, and the judge's gavel struck once. "Please, Mrs. Monroe, continue," the voice was firm, but not unkind.

I closed my eyes, gathering the last bit of courage I had left. "I did what any mother would do. I tried to save her."

I began to fiddle with my sweaty hands, intertwining and unravelling my fingers, "It had been getting bad for a long time," I began, voice barely over a whisper, "Jonathan's anger was like a hurricane, it destroyed everything in its path and poured down on others."

The lawyer leaned closer, "What do you mean by worse?"

I began to peel at the skin of my fingers, my leg started shaking rapidly. "He was angry all the time. At me, Neveah, nothing we seemed to do made him happy. But that day...that day was different."

"And what was different about it?"

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the moment crushing down on her. "I came home... and I saw him with Neveah. He was..." Her voice cracked, and the courtroom seemed to hold its breath. "He was hurting her."

I could feel the collective shift in the room—the unspoken judgment, the disbelief, the understanding. I could feel my lawyer's eyes urging me to go on, but every word felt like pulling teeth. "I had to stop him. I had to..."

"Can you describe the events for the courtroom?"

My breath hitched. Her lawyers question lingered in the air

'Can you describe the events?'

Suddenly, I was back in the hallway of our home. The smell of dust in the air, the eerie silence pressing down. I called out for my daughter. The uneasy feeling twisted in my stomach as I made my way to Neveah's room. The door creaked open, and there he was.

Jonathan. Standing over Neveah.

As the memories of that fateful day swirled in my mind, I was jolted back to the courtroom by the prosecutor's next question. "Mrs. Monroe, can you share with the court how your relationship with Jonathan began, and how it evolved over time?"