Chapter 6
The court ordered a settlement conference three weeks before trial.
The judge made mom come.
She sat at the far end of the conference room, flanked by her lawyer and two bailiffs, her wrists in handcuffs, a chain around her waist connecting them to her ankles. She wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t look at Amy.
She stared at the table, her face like stone.
The mediator, a soft-spoken woman in her fifties, started slow.
“The state has offered your client a plea deal,” she said to mom’s lawyer. “Four felonies, no contest. Two years in prison, no parole, plus full restitution. If she takes it, we skip the trial. If she doesn’t, we go to court, and the state will push for the maximum twenty years.”
Mom’s lawyer leaned over, whispering in her ear.
She shook her head.
“No,” she said, her voice sharp. “I’m not taking any deal. I didn’t do anything wrong. That girl manipulated my son. He’s confused. He’ll come around. He’s my blood.”
The mediator sighed.
She turned to Amy.
“Mrs. Bradley,” she said. “Would you like to say anything?”
I tensed.
I didn’t want Amy to have to talk to her. I wanted to get up, take her hand, and walk out. But she squeezed my knee under the table and stood up.
Her hands were shaking at first.
Her voice was small.
Then she took a deep breath.
And she started talking.
“You moved into my house the day my son was born,” she said, her voice getting stronger with every word. “You took my bedroom. You made me sleep on the couch with a newborn. You told me I was useless, that I was a bad mom, that Connor would leave me if I told him what you were doing. You made me work sixteen hours a day, cooking and cleaning for people who didn’t even know I existed. You let my son burn up with a fever for three days and refused to call a doctor because you said I was overreacting. I ate dry bread for lunch every day for six months because you said I didn’t deserve real food. I lost twenty pounds. I was so tired I could barely stand. And every night, when Connor called, I had to smile and tell him everything was fine because I was scared of what you’d do to me if I didn’t.”
The room was silent.
Mom didn’t move.
“I loved you,” Amy said, her voice cracking. “I really did. I thought you were my mom too. I thought when I married Connor, I gained a family. But you never saw me as family. You saw me as a servant. As a problem to get rid of so you could take what was mine.”
She paused, wiping a tear off her cheek.
“You wanted to break me,” she said. “You almost did. But you forgot one thing. I’m a mom now. I have a son to protect. And I will never, ever let anyone hurt him again. Not you. Not anyone.”
She sat down.
I grabbed her hand, squeezing it so hard my knuckles turned white.
I was so proud of her I could barely breathe.
Mom looked up for the first time.
Her face was red, her eyes blazing.
“You little—” she started, standing up, the chains rattling.
The bailiffs pushed her back down.
“Enough,” the mediator said, her voice sharp.
She turned to mom’s lawyer.
“Tell your client she has until five p.m. tomorrow to take the deal. After that, the offer is off the table. We go to trial, and based on what I’ve heard today? She’ll be lucky to get out of prison before she’s eighty.”
We walked out of the conference room into the hallway.
Amy collapsed against me, her legs shaking.
“I did it,” she whispered. “I really did it.”
“You did amazing,” I said, kissing her forehead. “You were incredible.”
Her parents were waiting by the elevator, holding Freddy. He saw Amy and squealed, reaching for her. She took him, holding him tight, kissing his chubby cheeks.
The next afternoon, the call came.
Mom had taken the deal.
No contest on four felonies.
Two years in prison.
Full restitution.
I hung up the phone and told Amy.
She closed her eyes, a small smile on her face.
“It’s over,” she said.
“Almost,” I said.
We still had the civil case.
We still had to go home.
But the worst part was done.
May you like
She’d stood up to the woman who’d broken her.
And she’d won.
