Part 6
Two weeks later was the preliminary arraignment. It was the first time I had seen my family since the night I lost my baby.
The courtroom was packed with journalists, legal interns, and curious onlookers. Ethan sat at the prosecution table next to the District Attorney, looking immaculate and lethal in his tailored charcoal suit. I sat in the front row of the gallery, my hands trembling slightly as I clutched a small plush bear we had bought for the nursery. It was my anchor.
When the side door opened and Madison was led into the courtroom, a collective whisper rippled through the gallery.
She was wearing a bright orange jail jumpsuit. Her hands were shackled to a chain around her waist. Gone was the perfectly manicured, glamorous golden child. Her hair was greasy, her skin pale, and she looked visibly shaken by the realities of county jail.
My parents were sitting on the opposite side of the gallery. The moment they saw Madison, my mother let out a loud sob, stretching her arms out toward her. Madison looked at them, her eyes wide with terror, silently mouthing, Get me out of here.
But when Madison’s gaze shifted and locked onto me, the fear in her eyes instantly vanished, replaced by a venomous, unadulterated hatred. Even in chains, surrounded by guards, she looked at me as if she wanted to finish the job.
The judge, a no-nonsense woman named Judge Evelyn Vance, slammed her gavel down, demanding silence.
The District Attorney stood up and read the charges. The words echoed through the courtroom, cold and clinical: "Count one: Aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, the weapon being the oak coffee table. Count two: First-degree feticide, the intentional and violent termination of a human pregnancy."
Madison’s public defender—a young, overworked lawyer who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else—stood up. "Your Honor, my client pleads not guilty. This was a tragic domestic accident, a sibling dispute that escalated unexpectedly. The defense requests that bail be set so Miss Carter can return home to her family while awaiting trial."
The District Attorney immediately countered. "The State strongly objects, Your Honor. The defendant has a documented history of unchecked violent behavior, covered up by her family. Furthermore, we have evidence of threats made by the defendant immediately prior to the assault."
The DA turned and nodded toward Ethan, who stood up and presented a tablet to the bailiff.
"Your Honor," Ethan said, his voice resonant and commanding. "We submit into evidence the audio recording from the home security system installed in the entryway of the Carter residence. While there is no video of the living room, the audio captured the event with terrifying clarity."
My parents froze. They didn't know the entryway camera had an active microphone that reached into the living room.
Ethan hit play.
The courtroom fell into a dead, horrifying silence as Madison’s voice filled the room through the speakers.
“What happens if I kick it?”
Then, the sound of my sickening gasp of agony.
“I bet I could make it stop moving forever,” Madison’s voice sneered, followed by the loud, distinct sound of a scuffle, my feet slipping, and the horrific, hollow crack of my head slamming into the table.
The courtroom gasped. Several journalists began typing furiously.
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Judge Vance's face transformed into an expression of sheer disgust. She looked down at Madison, who had gone completely rigid.
"Bail is denied," Judge Vance declared, her gavel striking the desk like a thunderclap. "The defendant will remain in custody until the commencement of the trial."
