Page 132 of Choosing Us

The media is everywhere. As if the media attention wasn’t enough, Graham’s attorney gave an impassioned plea to the media for the truth of the case to come to light so Graham can be exonerated and set free.

I absolutely want the truth to come out—the truth of his DNA at the crime scenes, his admission on tape while being interrogated, and the truth of him abducting my then-fiancé and almost erasing him from my life.

Graham is being tried in The United States District Court for the District of Massachusetts in Boston due to the majority of his crimes being in Massachusetts. Ryan and I arrived yesterday and will leave as soon as we are told I am no longer needed in court, then we’ll fly back for his testimony. I used to love Boston. I lived here for over a decade of my life throughout the pursuit of my degrees. But it’s also where Graham and I first crossed paths, and he has tainted the city for me.

I won’t even allow myself to dwell in those feelings, though, because it would be something else he would have influence or control over.

I don’t want anything to do with the man in any context after this trial, and I’m allowed to have those boundaries.

But first—I have an asshole to help take down.

“Dr. Lane! Harlow, over here, Harlow!” The flashes of photography are blinding the second we walk out of the federal courthouse. It’s a cold December afternoon, but the sharks are out for blood. It’s overstimulating and slightly terrifying. I have to fight the urge to cradle my stomach because I don’t want Graham to see that on the news.

“My client has no comment at this time,” Theo keeps repeating, but that doesn’t stop the questions.

“Let’s go, baby,” Ryan murmurs in my ear as he keeps his arm wrapped around me, so I’m tucked under his arm, firmly pressed into his side as Theo walks directly in front of us. Liam is on my other side, while Walker and Tara lead us all through the crowded sidewalk to our vehicle, where Kelly is waiting with the rented SUV running. Mason has my six and we navigate the crowds as the media hurls questions at me.

“Really? Come on, something, surely you have something to say, Harlow! That was a ninety-minute testimony!” someone yells and I look up, trying to figure out who said it. I take a deep breath, and as calmly as I can, I repeat the same thing I said on the way inside, “No comment.”

Ryan squeezes me a little tighter, and I let Theo take over, repeating the same line.

I have no comments for this monster, and I refuse to give him any more material to obsess over me. He tried to take too much already, but he, like so many other people over the years, underestimated my intelligence, my capability, and how damn stubborn I can be when someone hurts a person I love.

Although I do hope the courtroom sketch artist caught Graham’s face when he saw Ryan with me, and the wedding ring on my finger. I thought he was going to pass out with how red his face got. He had his attorney try to ask about my marital status, implying I had some bias, which thankfully, the prosecution objected relevance, and the judge agreed.

But when he saw Ryan’s wedding ring, Graham had to be taken out of the courtroom after that for not listening to the judge’s directions of being quiet and staying in his seat.

He waited for me to get there then got himself kicked out halfway through.

The following Tuesday, Graham didn’t even last ten minutes into Ryan’s testimony before he went irate and was once again removed from the courtroom. I can’t assume what was going through his head, but I doubt hearing Ryan call me his wife three times within five minutes sat well with Graham. When the trial wrapped, it took the jury less than a day to return with a verdict of guilty on all counts.

Six weeks later, The Carnation Killer was sentenced to multiple life sentences without the possibility of parole. The victims and their loved ones received their justice, a dangerous killer was put away, and he will never be a free man.

And I finally achieved freedom from Graham Tremblay.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

“I can’t believe how perfect she is,” Harlow whispers as she strokes the shocking amount of dark hair our daughter surprised us all with. We both have dark hair, but I don’t think either of us expected our baby to have so much of it right away. It was the second-best surprise of the birth—the best being the fact that we have a little girl.

Harlow thought it would be fun to wait to find out the gender, and while I was anxious to know, we were both ecstatic to hear the doctor announce we had a daughter.

The birth itself did not go according to plan when Harlow’s water broke in our bed just before midnight. We opted to face my family’s wrath and wait to tell everyone until we knew more about the labor progression, and it didn’t make sense for everyone else to lose sleep. When we arrived at the hospital, Harlow was already in active labor, but unfortunately, the baby had flipped out of position and was breached. Due to the positioning of the placenta and Harlow’s labor progress, the doctor recommended a c-section. Harlow didn’t want to try and flip the baby and possibly deal with a complication or to labor for longer and still end up needing the cesarean.

At three fifteen in the morning, our baby’s cries pierced through the operating room, and my life was forever changed in the best ways.

“You’re amazing, Mama,” I tell her before leaning over and kissing her forehead. Harlow looks up at me with watery eyes, a near constant since delivery, but she insists it’s only happy tears.

“I can’t believe she’s ours to love. How did we create such a beautiful little baby?”

“I think she’s the perfect representation of our love, Lo. What we have—what we share and have built together so far—it’s beautiful. Of course, our baby would be beautiful, too.”

Harlow swipes away a tear. “You’re right. She’s the product of our love, and she’s going to have a beautiful life.”

“Of course, she will. She’s ours.”

“What do you think, little Miss Callahan? Should we alert The Cavalry that you’ve arrived? Are we ready for them to invade?” Harlow asks our baby who is passed out in a happy milk coma.

“It’s almost eight. Dad will be up by now. I’ll call him first, then we can text everyone.”