Page 106 of Matlock
Around us, the courtroom buzzed with whispered conversations. People leaning toward each other, speculating, theorizing. I caught fragments of their words.
Recording.
Confession.
Self-defense.
None of it made sense. None of it told me what was happening behind that closed door.
I stared at the door to the chambers, waiting for it to open. Waiting for someone to come out and tell me what was going on.
What kind of recording does she have? What did she capture?
My mind raced through possibilities. Alan’s threats. His abuse. The night he died.
Oh God. Did she record the night she killed him?
The thought made my stomach drop.
If she had... if there was proof of what happened that night... proof of Alan attacking her, proof of her defending herself...
This could change everything.
But it could also destroy her.
I looked at my parents. Mom was watching me, her eyes full of worry. Dad’s jaw was tight, his hand resting on my shoulder like he could anchor me through sheer force of will.
“How long have they been back there?” I asked.
Dad glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes. It felt like hours.
I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped in front of me. I tried to breathe. Tried to think. Tried to make sense of what was happening.
But all I could think about was Sadie.
Sadie, sitting in that room with Uncle Alex and Rosalind and Tony, showing them whatever proof she had. Sadie, who’d just confessed to murder in open court. Sadie, who’d been living in fear for so long that she’d started documenting her own abuse.
What did you record, Sadie? What are they seeing right now?
The door to the chambers remained closed.
The courtroom remained tense.
And I remained helpless, waiting for someone to tell me what happened to my sister.
Finally, the door opened.
Tony emerged first, his expression unreadable but his shoulders tight with tension. Rosalind followed, her features tight, her hands clenched into fists. The bailiff escorted Sadie out last, her eyes red-rimmed, her hands trembling.
Uncle Alex appeared in the doorway, his expression grave. He moved to the bench and stood in front of the courtroom.
Tony walked straight to me, his eyes locking on mine. I stood on shaking legs, my mind still reeling. When he reached the defense table, he shook his head and turned to face Uncle Alex.
The bailiff called out, “All rise.”
“We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning at nine,” Uncle Alex announced. “Until then, this court is adjourned.”
