Chapter 7
The criminal trial was set for three months later.
Three months of waiting.
Three months of anxiety.
Three months of Diane trying to make our lives miserable.
She sent letters through distant relatives.
Letters full of lies and threats.
"She says she's going to take Noah," Sarah told us after receiving one. "She says she has 'friends in high places' who will help her."
Our lawyer told us to ignore them.
"She's desperate," she said. "If she had friends in high places, she wouldn't be sending letters through third cousins. She's trying to scare you. Don't let it work."
But it was hard not to be scared.
I started checking the locks on the doors multiple times a night.
I installed a security system.
I made sure the kids were never out of my sight.
Lily noticed.
"Are we safe, Aunt Emily?"
"Of course we are, baby," I said. "We have the restraining order. And the police are on our side. And we have each other."
She nodded.
But I could see the worry in her eyes.
Dr. Maya, her therapist, told us it was normal.
"She's been through a traumatic event," she said. "She needs reassurance. She needs to know that she's safe. And she needs to see that you and Ryan are handling things. Kids take their cues from the adults around them."
So we tried to be strong.
For her.
For Noah.
For each other.
We tried to create a sense of normalcy.
Lily started school.
Third grade.
She was nervous at first.
But she made friends quickly.
She joined the art club.
She loved it.
"I made a painting today," she told me after school one day. "It's called 'My Happy Family.'"
She showed it to me.
It was bright and colorful.
All of us holding hands.
Smiling.
With a big sun in the sky.
"It's beautiful," I said.
"I want to hang it in the living room," she said. "So everyone can see."
"Of course we will."
Noah was growing fast.
He was crawling now.
Getting into everything.
His first tooth had come in.
The one that had been causing him so much pain that terrible day.
He was happy.
He was healthy.
And he was loved.
Sometimes, when I watched him playing.
I would have flashbacks.
I would see him falling.
Hear him screaming.
And I would have to hold him.
To make sure he was real.
That he was okay.
Ryan would find me like that sometimes.
Holding Noah tight.
Crying quietly.
And he would just hold us both.
No words needed.
One day, I got a call from an unexpected number.
It was a woman.
"Emily? This is Karen. I was married to Diane's brother."
I was surprised.
"Karen? Hi. How are you?"
"I saw the news story," she said. "And I wanted to tell you something. Diane did the same thing to my son. When he was a baby. She got frustrated because he was crying. And she shook him. Hard."
My blood ran cold.
"What?"
"He was fine, thank God. But I never let her near him again. And I told everyone what happened. But no one believed me. She told them I was crazy. That I was making it up. She destroyed my reputation. I lost friends. Family. I want to help you. I want to testify."
I couldn't believe it.
"Thank you, Karen. Thank you so much."
"I have more," she said. "Diane has a history. She hurt her own sister when they were kids. Pushed her down the stairs. And she hurt a neighbor's child once. A little girl. She was never charged. She always talked her way out of it. But people knew. People were afraid of her."
I told our lawyer immediately.
She was thrilled.
"This is huge," she said. "This establishes a pattern. A history of violence against children. The jury needs to hear this."
Karen wasn't the only one who came forward.
A former neighbor of Diane's called.
She'd seen Diane yelling at Ryan when he was a little boy.
Seen her hit him.
"I always felt so bad for him," she said. "But I was scared of her too. I want to help. I want to testify."
And an old teacher of Ryan's.
She remembered Ryan coming to school with bruises.
With sad eyes.
"Diane was always so charming at parent-teacher conferences," she said. "But I could see the fear in Ryan's eyes when she was around. I reported it to the principal, but nothing was ever done. I've carried that guilt for years. Let me help."
Slowly, the truth about Diane was coming out.
She wasn't the loving grandmother she pretended to be.
She was a monster.
Who'd been hurting people for decades.
And getting away with it.
But not this time.
This time, there was video evidence.
This time, there were witnesses.
May you like
This time, there was a brave little girl who told the truth.
This time, justice would be served.
