Chapter 9
Megan's confession sent shockwaves through the legal system.
The criminal trial date was moved up.
The DA now had an open-and-shut case.
Harold Whitmore tried to withdraw as George and Patricia's counsel.
The judge let him.
They had to find new lawyers.
Public defenders, since their money was rapidly running out.
In the civil case, Marcus filed a motion for summary judgment.
He argued that Megan's confession, combined with the recording and all the other evidence, meant there were no genuine issues of material fact.
That we were entitled to judgment as a matter of law.
The judge granted it two weeks later.
"Given the defendant Megan Collins' sworn confession to the intentional killing of the plaintiff's unborn child, and the overwhelming evidence of the other defendants' complicity in the attack and subsequent cover-up, the court finds that the plaintiff is entitled to judgment on all causes of action. The issue of damages will be determined at trial."
It was a complete victory.
The only thing left was to determine how much they owed me.
The damages trial was scheduled for two months later.
Marcus told me we would probably be awarded everything they owned.
Plus significant punitive damages.
But he also warned me that collecting it all would be difficult.
"They don't have fifty million dollars, Emily. No one expects you to actually collect that amount. But the jury will probably award it anyway, as a statement. And you will get everything they do have. The house. The retirement accounts. The cars. The jewelry. Every tangible asset."
"Good," I said. "I want it all. And then I want to donate it. All of it. To domestic violence shelters. To organizations that help women and children abused by their families."
Nathan looked at me.
"All of it?"
"Every penny. I don't want anything that came from them. Nothing that has their fingerprints on it. If their suffering can help someone else, then maybe some good can come out of this nightmare."
Nathan kissed me.
"You're incredible, you know that?"
"I'm just trying to survive," I said.
But he was right.
There was something healing about the decision.
About taking the fruits of their corruption and turning them into something good.
It felt like honoring my baby.
Like giving his or her short existence meaning.
The damages trial began on a cold Tuesday in November.
The courtroom was packed.
Reporters filled the back.
Advocates for domestic violence victims sat on our side of the room.
George, Patricia, and Megan were brought in from jail.
They looked even worse than before.
Megan was now on suicide watch, according to the guards.
She had tried to kill herself in her cell two weeks earlier.
I felt nothing when I heard that.
No sympathy.
No satisfaction.
Just emptiness.
The trial lasted three days.
Our side presented evidence of the attack.
The recording.
The medical records.
Megan's confession.
Then we presented evidence of their history.
Daniel Kim testified about the stabbing.
Robert Henderson testified about the car accident.
We presented the emails where my mother called me cold and unlovable.
We presented evidence of George's fraud.
Then I took the stand.
I told the jury about growing up in that house.
About always being the second choice.
About always being expected to apologize when Megan hurt me.
About the day I told them I was pregnant.
About the hope I had felt.
About the kick.
About lying on the floor, bleeding, while my father blocked the door.
About waking up in the hospital and learning my baby was dead.
About learning my husband had been arrested.
I didn't cry.
I didn't scream.
I just told the truth.
Calmly.
Clearly.
Completely.
When I finished, there wasn't a dry eye in the courtroom.
Even the judge wiped her eyes.
The defense didn't put on a case.
They had nothing.
No evidence.
No witnesses.
No defense.
The jury deliberated for three hours.
They came back with a verdict.
Compensatory damages: $1.2 million.
The full value of everything they owned.
Punitive damages: $35 million.
The forewoman read the numbers.
I closed my eyes.
It was over.
Well, the civil part was over.
The criminal trial was still to come.
But the financial destruction of the Collins family was complete.
They owned nothing.
They had nothing.
And they were about to go to prison.
As we walked out of the courtroom, reporters surrounded us.
"Mrs. Parker, how does it feel to win?"
"Do you have any comment on the verdict?"
"Is there anything you want to say to your family?"
I stopped and looked at the cameras.
"This verdict isn't about money," I said. "It's about justice. For my baby. For every other victim of family violence who has been told to be quiet, to forgive, to forget. And I want to say this to anyone who is suffering in silence right now: you are not alone. You do not have to accept abuse from the people who are supposed to love you. Speak up. Fight back. Because you deserve better."
I turned and walked away.
Nathan squeezed my hand.
"You did good," he said.
"We did good," I corrected him.
That night, we went home.
For the first time in months, I slept through the night.
The war wasn't completely over.
But the hardest part was behind us.
And for the first time since that terrible day, I allowed myself to hope.
Maybe, just maybe, I could heal.
Maybe, just maybe, Nathan and I could build something new.
May you like
Something good.
Out of all this horror.
