“Sustained,” Uncle Alex said. “Ms. Winthrop, watch your tone.”
Rosalind’s jaw tightened. “Ms. Nelson, what happened the night Alan Sanders was murdered?”
Sadie took a shaky breath. Her hands trembled in her lap.
“He came home drunk,” she said quietly. “It was late. He smelled like... like perfume. Like another woman.” Her voice wavered. “I asked him about it. When he wouldn’t answer, I told him I was done. That I was leaving him.”
She paused, her eyes distant, reliving it.
“He lost it. He was screaming at me, calling me names, telling me I was a worthless piece of shit for questioning him. He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall. His hands were around my neck, and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t—” Her voice broke.
The courtroom was silent. Even Rosalind had gone still.
“I fought back,” Sadie continued, her voice stronger now, fueled by the memory of her terror. “I clawed at his arms, his face. I was trying to get away from him. He let me go, telling me I wasn’t worth enough to kill. When I looked up, he was walking away from me again, but I knew—” She stopped, her eyes filling with tears. “I knew he was going to kill me. I could see it in his eyes. He was going to finish what he’d started.”
She swallowed hard. Sadie’s hands shook as she gripped the edge of the witness stand.
“There was a knife on the counter. I grabbed it. When he came at me, I-I didn’t think. I just reacted. I was terrified. I was fighting for my life.”
The courtroom erupted.
Gasps. Voices raised in shock. People standing, turning to each other, the noise rising like a wave.
I couldn’t breathe. My mouth dropped open as I stared at my little sister.
She just confessed. She just told them the truth.
Uncle Alex slammed the gavel down, the sound echoing through the chaos. “Order! Order in this court!”
The noise didn’t stop.
“I will clear this courtroom if you do not settle down!” Uncle Alex’s voice was loud, commanding, his expression stern. “Bailiff, prepare to remove anyone who cannot maintain decorum.”
The threat worked. The noise subsided, but the energy in the room was electric, transformed.
Rosalind’s face was cold, calculating. She turned to Uncle Alex, her voice sharp. “Your Honor, this is a coordinated stunt.The defendant, his sister, and his counsel have orchestrated this confession to save Simon Nelson from prosecution, a fabrication. A last-ditch effort to—”
“I have proof,” Sadie said, her voice cutting through Rosalind’s words.
Rosalind stopped mid-sentence, her eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”
“I have proof,” Sadie repeated, her voice stronger now. “I recorded him. I recorded Alan. His threats. His abuse. Everything.”
My breath caught.
She recorded him?
“I have the recording,” Sadie added. “It’s on my phone. It’s evidence of everything I’ve said.”
The courtroom was silent now, everyone staring at Sadie.
Rosalind’s face went pale.
Uncle Alex leaned forward. “Ms. Nelson, are you saying you have a recording of Alan Sanders threatening you?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Sadie said. “I thought if something happened to me... I wanted someone to know the truth.”
I looked at Tony. His expression was unreadable, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched on the table.
