Allowing himself one ultimate show of tenderness, he brings his lips to my forehead for a lingering, sad, and heartbreaking kiss. With my arms around his broad torso, I try to keep him right here, wanting this moment to last forever.
But my strength is no match for his, so he easily pries himself out of my hold. “I hope you can forgive me one day, freckles.” Stepping back, he straightens his jacket, squares his shoulders, and turns his impassive mask back on.
I watch, helpless, as he walks to the door. Gripping the handle, he turns to me one last time. “No matter what happens in there, I want you to know it isn’t your fault, Andrea.”
My eyebrows twist with incomprehension. What does he mean? My fault? Why would it be my fault? Before I can ask, he opens the door to let his counselors in. Mr. Goldberg comes to me and rests a hand high on my back to escort me to the second room. I turn around in time to catch a last glimpse of Lex before the door closes, separating us forever.
Pain like I didn’t know existed spreads throughout my entire body, radiating from my heart to my every limb. This can’t be real. It can’t be our end…
It feels like months have gone by since my world tipped over, ripping me away from everything I’ve built, everything I cherish, and everything I’ve ever wanted. At the same time, it’s as though the hours fly by, my mind dissociating for most of it.
And then everything stopped moments ago, when I finally got to see my freckled dork again.
Of all the things I’m losing, she’s the one I’ll regret the most. I won’t get to see her grow old and wrinkled, after all, won’t get to hold our children in my arms, won’t get to spend a lifetime by her side.
Those ten years I’m giving away wouldn’t be such a hard punishment if I knew all that would wait for me when I got out. But I can’t ask that of her. In fact, I hope with everything I have that she’ll move on, find someone better than me, and live the life she deserves. The thought hurts my very soul, but I’d rather know she’s happy and healing than suffering through ten years of waiting for me to get out.
It would be in vain, regardless. The man I am now won’t be the man I’ll be then. The things she loves about me, what makes me who I am, will probably be long gone by then. That’s why I can’t keep her trapped in our relationship. I’m sparing her the only way I know how—by letting her go. For good and forever.
The U.S. Marshal’s grip tightens around my arm as the door opens before us. I stare forward, jaw tight, as he escorts me in. I don’t need to look to know the gallery is full this time. My attorneys informed me thata few friends and family would attend, but that wouldn’t take much more than a bench. The rest must be curious civilians and journalists. Quite a few of the latter, given the avid tapping on keyboards that arises when we step in.
Purposefully, I don’t look at the crowd. If I see Andrea again, with her teary eyes and red nose, I might change my mind and cave. But I’ve weighed the pros and cons, and I can’t let her or my heart change today’s outcome. I can do ten years. I can’t do life.
The Marshal sits me next to my lawyers and opens the handcuffs at my wrists.Will I ever get used to the discomfort of wearing these?I wonder, massaging my wrists.
“This is the matter of the United States versus Alexander Coleman,” the judge says with a clear voice. He’s the same one who was assigned to the other two hearings, Judge Harold Ward, and I get the distinct sense he doesn’t like me. “Today we’re here for a preliminary hearing. Counsel, please identify yourselves for the record.”
The prosecutor stands to say, “Good morning, Your Honor. Assistant U.S. Attorney Collins, for the government.”
“Ruiz, here to assist Ms. Collins.”
The lawyers at my table then stand to say, “Good morning, Your Honor. Goldberg, on behalf of Mr. Coleman, who is present and seated beside me.”
“Zucker, also appearing for the defense.”
The judge nods, and the counsel sits again. He then leans forward, addressing both benches as he says, “I understand there’s been a plea offer extended by the government. Is that correct?”
Ms. Collins stands again. “Yes, Your Honor. The United States has offered a plea agreement, which would resolve this matter with a single charge and a negotiated sentence.”
“And defense counsel, is your client prepared to accept this offer?” the judge asks.
“Your Honor, we’ve reviewed the offer thoroughly, and we’re ready to respond,” Goldberg answers.
“Will the defendant please rise,” the judge instructs.
I obey, my legs stiff, the weight of the moment pressing down like sandbags on my chest.
“Mr. Coleman,” the judge continues, “do you understand that the purpose of today’s preliminary hearing is to determine whether the charges against you are supported by probable cause and should proceed to trial?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And do you understand that if you accept the plea offer, you will be giving up your constitutional rights—including the right to a jurytrial, the right to remain silent, the right to confront witnesses, and the right to require the government to prove your guilt beyond a reasonable doubt?”
I already know what I’m giving up. And it’s so much more than all that.
“Yes, Your Honor,” I agree, the words like razor blades in my throat.
“Very well. If you accept the plea, this court will be adjourned and reconvene at a later date for a Rule 11 hearing to formally enter the plea. So I ask you now, Mr. Coleman—do you wish to accept the government’s plea offer?”
