The courtroom buzzed with hushed whispers as the next witness was called to the stand, an old friend of Jonathan Monroe's from his youth. A man in his early forties, well-dressed but visibly uncomfortable, shifted in his seat as he was sworn in. His name was Patrick, a former college friend of Jonathan's who had seen more than his share of the chaos within the Monroe household.
Elaine wasted no time getting into it. She needed to show the jury what Teresa endured after the miscarriage, how Jonathan's behavior devolved from bad to worse.
"Mr. Thomas," Elaine began, "can you tell the court about your observations of Jonathan Monroe's behavior in the year following Teresa's miscarriage?"
Patrick adjusted his tie nervously, glancing briefly at Teresa before speaking. "Yeah, I... well, Jonathan wasn't the same after that. He... he didn't want to be around Teresa anymore. I mean, we all noticed it. It was like he couldn't stand the sight of her. He'd come to the bar with us, blow off steam, and, honestly, he just seemed angry all the time."
Elaine nodded, pacing slowly. "Angry? Can you elaborate on that? What exactly did you see?"
Patrick sighed, clearly uncomfortable but committed to telling the truth. "He drank a lot. He'd stay out until three or four in the morning. Sometimes he wouldn't even go home. We'd ask him about it, but he'd just say things like 'I can't be there,' or 'She makes me sick,' or... worse things I don't really want to repeat here."
A murmur ran through the courtroom. Elaine remained calm but focused. "Did he ever talk to you about why he felt that way? Why he couldn't stand being around his wife?"
Patrick nodded slowly. "Yeah, he'd say she wasn't the same after the miscarriage. Like she wasn't doing enough, wasn't... I don't know, making him feel the way he used to feel. He talked a lot about wanting a son, like that was the only thing that mattered to him. He'd say she failed him by losing the baby."
Teresa looked down at her hands, her heart heavy with the memories. Those words had echoed through their home for months—You failed me. You failed us.
Elaine stepped closer. "Did he ever express any guilt or remorse for the way he treated her?"
Patrick hesitated, then shook his head. "Not really. He'd complain about her, but if anyone suggested he was being too hard on her, he'd just shrug it off. I mean, there was one night..."
Patrick paused, clearly conflicted about what he was about to share. Elaine urged him to continue. "Go on."
"One night, after a lot of drinking, Jonathan told me and a couple of the other guys that things had gotten physical. He said they had a fight, and... well, he hit her. Hard. He didn't go into much detail, but he seemed... almost indifferent about it. Like it wasn't that big of a deal. The next day, he acted like it didn't happen, showered her with gifts, took her on a shopping spree, but... I don't know. It didn't feel right."
The courtroom fell silent as the weight of Patrick's words hung in the air.
Elaine's voice softened, but her line of questioning remained sharp. "You're telling the court that Jonathan Monroe admitted to physically assaulting his wife, and then he tried to cover it up with gifts?"
Patrick nodded. "Yeah, that's what happened. He always tried to fix things with money. He bought her jewelry, clothes, whatever he thought would make her forget about it. But when we were alone, he still talked about wanting another kid—another son. Like he was just waiting for her to get over it so he could try again."
Elaine stepped back for a moment, allowing Patrick's words to sink in with the jury.
"Mr. Thomas, was there any indication that Jonathan regretted his actions, or was he just focused on moving on and having a son?"
Patrick's face hardened. "He didn't regret anything. All he cared about was getting that heir. He even said once, 'I'll just wait for her to heal up, and then we'll try again.' It was cold."
Teresa's breath caught in her throat. That night, after he had bruised her ribs, left her bleeding from her mouth, Jonathan had stood over her and whispered those exact words. It wasn't an apology. It wasn't a plea for forgiveness. It was a demand, a command—You'll give me my son.
Elaine turned to the jury. "No further questions, Your Honor."
As she sat down, David rose slowly, ready to cross-examine. He strode toward Patrick with a careful, deliberate pace, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.
"Mr. Thomas, it seems you've been a loyal friend to Jonathan for many years. Would you say that's correct?"
Patrick shifted in his seat. "I suppose, yes."
David nodded, continuing, "So you must have known Jonathan well—his mannerisms, his tendencies. You've been out with him countless times. How would you describe his state of mind during these outings? Was it possible that the drinking was a way for him to cope with the loss of his child?"
Patrick frowned. "Maybe. I'm not a psychologist."
David pressed on. "But wouldn't it make sense for a man—any man—to act out when dealing with the trauma of a miscarriage? That perhaps his anger wasn't solely directed at Teresa, but was instead part of his own grief?"
Patrick looked uncertain, unsure of how to respond. "I guess, but—"
David cut him off. "You're not a therapist, Mr. Thomas, so you can't say for sure what Jonathan was feeling, can you? You're simply sharing what you heard and saw, correct?"
Patrick nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's all I can do."
David turned to the jury, his voice smooth. "So we have a man, devastated by the loss of his unborn child, resorting to alcohol to numb the pain, speaking out of anger and frustration. You didn't witness these events firsthand, Mr. Thomas. You're only repeating words said in the heat of the moment."
"Objection!" Elaine's voice cut through the tension. "The witness was clearly present for several discussions about Jonathan's actions."
"Sustained," the judge replied.
David gave a small nod, pivoting slightly. "Let's move on, then. Mr. Thomas, did Jonathan ever explicitly tell you that he hated Teresa?"
Patrick hesitated, thinking back. "Not in those exact words, but..."
"But he did say he was angry, correct? That he felt disappointed? Perhaps even betrayed by the loss of their child?"
Patrick sighed, looking trapped. "Yes, he said those things."
David's tone softened, almost sympathetic. "And don't you think it's possible, Mr. Thomas, that Jonathan's behavior—while deeply flawed—was a manifestation of his own grief and frustration? That it wasn't hatred for his wife, but rather, a deep, unresolved pain?"
Patrick remained quiet for a moment. "Maybe. But it doesn't excuse what he did."
David straightened, turning back to the jury. "People say terrible things when they're hurting, Mr. Thomas. We all know that. But Jonathan wasn't a monster—he was a man dealing with unimaginable grief."
"Mr. Thomas," he began, his tone softer yet probing, "you've spoken at length about Jonathan's behavior toward Teresa, but let's not forget—he was hurting too, wasn't he?"
Patrick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "That doesn't excuse his actions," he insisted.
"Of course not," David replied, his voice smooth. "But can you really blame a man for struggling with his emotions after losing a child? After such a profound loss, shouldn't we at least consider Jonathan's pain in this situation?"
Patrick looked down at his hands, visibly torn. "I understand he was hurting, but he took it out on her. That's not okay."
"Right, but you must acknowledge that grief can manifest in different ways," David pressed, leaning forward slightly. "How can we expect someone to process that pain without making mistakes? Isn't that part of being human?"
"Sure, but there's a line," Patrick countered, trying to maintain his stance.
"Let's talk about that line, then," David said, his voice low and insistent. "When you witnessed Jonathan's anger and frustration, did you ever see him lash out at anyone other than Teresa?"
Patrick hesitated. "Not that I can recall, but—"
"Exactly," David interjected, raising a finger. "He was directing his anger at the one person he felt closest to, the one person he thought might understand his pain. Doesn't that tell you something about his state of mind?"
"Maybe," Patrick said reluctantly. "But that doesn't justify what he did."
"No, it doesn't," David conceded, "but it paints a picture of a man trapped in his own despair. Isn't it plausible that Jonathan felt overwhelmed, helpless to change the circumstances of his life? And in that darkness, he lashed out at the one person he felt he could?"
Patrick shifted again, the weight of David's words pressing down on him. "I just don't think he had to hurt her."
David nodded slowly. "But in your observations, would you say that Jonathan was intentionally trying to hurt Teresa, or was he acting out of his own suffering?"
Patrick opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, caught in a web of empathy and moral judgment. "I don't know. I think he was just... lost."
"Lost," David repeated, allowing the word to linger. "That's a strong choice of language. A man in pain, feeling lost, can often make poor decisions. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes, but—"
"But nothing," David interrupted, his tone suddenly more aggressive. "You're telling me that despite knowing Jonathan for years, you can't find it in yourself to empathize with him just a little? He lost a child, Patrick. That changes a person. You said it yourself—he wasn't the same after the miscarriage."
Patrick finally broke under the pressure, his voice rising. "I get that! I do! But he still had a choice! He could have sought help! He could have done something instead of taking it out on Teresa!"
"Yet he didn't," David countered, his tone cold now. "And here we are. Isn't it fascinating how much easier it is for you to sit in judgment of Jonathan than it is to acknowledge the complexity of his emotions? This isn't a black-and-white issue, Mr. Thomas. Life rarely is."
Patrick fell silent, his shoulders slumping as David's words hung heavily in the air. The courtroom seemed to hold its breath, the tension palpable.
"Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Thomas," David finally said, stepping back. "No further questions."
Patrick stepped down, visibly shaken. David had successfully created a fissure in his testimony, steering the focus toward Jonathan's pain and humanizing the man who had caused so much suffering.
As the courtroom shifted its attention, Teresa felt a mix of anger and relief. She could sense the tide turning, and she braced herself for what lay ahead, knowing that Jonathan's actions were under scrutiny now more than ever. The battle was far from over, and the truth still needed to emerge from the shadows.
Ava Rogan stepped onto the witness stand, her posture straight, but an air of nervousness surrounded her. She had been a bartender at The Velvet Lounge for nearly two decades—a private rooftop establishment known for its exclusivity, where only the elite gathered for drinks and whispered secrets. Owned by a member of Jonathan Monroe's family, the lounge was a sanctuary for the wealthy, where patrons felt comfortable enough to let their guards down—if only for a moment.
Ava had grown up in the bar scene; her mother had bartended there before her. As a child, she often swept the floors, eavesdropping on conversations between the influential and powerful. She had seen the glamour and grit of their lives unfold over drinks, and now she was in the unique position of relaying her observations to a courtroom filled with strangers, including the woman whose life had intertwined with Jonathan's.
Elaine, the defense attorney, began the questioning with a measured tone. "Ms. Rogan, could you share your experience working at The Velvet Lounge and any interactions you've had with Jonathan Monroe?"
Ava nodded, steadying herself. "I've worked here for almost twenty years. I remember Jonathan coming in with his mother before she passed away, long before he took over the company. But after her death, I noticed he started coming more frequently, almost as if he were using the bar to escape his reality. At first, he was just a young man grieving his mother, but that changed."
Elaine encouraged her with a nod. "How did it change?"
"His demeanor shifted. He began to drink heavily, and it seemed like he was looking for distractions. The conversations I overheard became darker. After Teresa's miscarriage, it was like something snapped in him. He was angry and restless. I heard him say things like, 'She can't even give me what I need,' or 'I need an heir, not a burden.' It was painful to listen to."
"Did you notice any specific changes in his behavior toward Teresa after the miscarriage?" Elaine asked.
"Yes," Ava replied, her expression serious. "He became increasingly volatile. I remember one night in particular; he came in late, reeking of alcohol, and he was belligerent. He started to talk about how he wanted a son, how Teresa had let him down. It was unsettling. It felt like he was punishing her for something that was beyond her control."
"Did you ever witness any interactions between them at the lounge?" Elaine pressed.
"Once," Ava recalled, frowning at the memory. "Teresa came in looking for him, and they had a small spat right there at the bar. I didn't know who she was at first, just another woman trying to find her husband. But then I saw the hurt in her eyes, followed by anger. It was like she realized he was choosing to drown himself in alcohol and other women instead of facing their issues. She left in a hurry, and I could see she was fighting back tears. I felt a mix of sympathy and frustration. It was clear there was tension between them, but I didn't know the details."
Elaine nodded, allowing David, the prosecutor, to take his turn.
"Ms. Rogan," David began, his voice smooth yet piercing, "you've depicted Jonathan as a man who struggled after his wife's miscarriage. But isn't it true that he was also coping with the loss of his mother?"
Ava frowned slightly. "He was, but that doesn't excuse the way he treated Teresa. He chose to engage in affairs and sought comfort with other women instead of supporting his wife."
David leaned in, eager to capitalize on her statements. "And these affairs—how did you become aware of them?"
"I've seen him come into the lounge with various women over the years. Each time, they seemed younger and more impressionable. It was as if he was trying to escape the reality of his marriage by surrounding himself with people who didn't know the truth. The way he interacted with them felt predatory. He'd often boast about how he could have anyone he wanted. It was distasteful," Ava said, her tone firm.
"So you believe his actions were a direct reflection of his relationship with Teresa?" David asked, pressing for clarity.
"Yes, he was clearly unhappy and sought comfort elsewhere," Ava stated. "It felt like he was using those affairs as a way to fill a void, a distraction from the reality of his marriage."
David continued, "But don't you think that part of his behavior was also a response to his grief? He lost his mother, and he was struggling to handle that while also managing his responsibilities as a husband."
Ava shook her head. "Grief doesn't give someone a free pass to treat others poorly. Instead of facing his pain, he ran from it, dragging Teresa through the mud with him. That's not the behavior of someone who's grieving; it's someone who's selfish."
David stepped back, allowing the weight of her words to settle in the courtroom. He took a moment before launching into a final question. "Did Jonathan ever express any regret about his actions or concern for Teresa during your time at the lounge?"
Ava shook her head, her voice resolute. "No, he acted like it was no big deal. His focus was on himself and his needs, not on how his behavior affected Teresa. I've seen the toll it took on her, and it was heartbreaking. He would apologize after a blow-up but quickly return to the same cycle of neglect and disdain. It was almost as if he thought material gifts could make up for his emotional absence."
David paused, eyeing the jury as he made his final point. "Thank you, Ms. Rogan. Your testimony paints a clear picture."
Theresa took a deep breath as she walked toward the witness stand, her heart racing. The courtroom felt overwhelmingly foreign, and the weight of the eyes on her only added to her anxiety. She couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability, knowing that every word she spoke could be scrutinized. As she settled into the chair, she focused on the prosecutor, David, who stood before her.
"Ms. Monroe," David began, his tone firm yet measured, "can you please recount the events surrounding your miscarriage and how Jonathan reacted during that time?"
Theresa glanced down, collecting her thoughts. "After the miscarriage, Jonathan changed dramatically. He was distant and angry, as if he blamed me for what happened. I remember feeling completely lost and devastated. I had hoped he would support me, but instead, he withdrew."
David leaned in slightly, pushing for details. "Can you explain how his behavior impacted you?"
"I felt isolated," she admitted, her voice quivering slightly. "Instead of being there for me, he would go out drinking. Sometimes he wouldn't come home until the early hours of the morning. When he did come home, he often picked fights. It was as if he needed to redirect his pain into anger toward me."
"Were there specific incidents that stand out to you during that time?" David probed.
Theresa swallowed hard, recalling the darker moments. "Yes. There was one night that escalated into violence. I was tired and just wanted to talk, but he didn't want to listen. I tried to express my pain about losing the baby, and he snapped. He pushed me, and I fell. I was terrified."
David's expression softened slightly, and he asked, "What happened after that?"
"He apologized the next day, showering me with gifts—expensive jewelry and flowers—but it felt empty. He never addressed the underlying issues. He just wanted me to forgive him so we could pretend everything was fine."
"Did Jonathan ever express a desire for another child during this time?" David continued, knowing the answer would cut deep.
"Yes," Theresa replied, her voice tightening. "He would talk about wanting a son, making comments like he was just going to wait for me to heal up. It felt like a threat, a reminder that I had failed him somehow."
"Did you ever feel that Jonathan was more focused on his desires than on your well-being?" David asked, his tone probing yet compassionate.
"Absolutely. He would talk about his plans for our family, but it was always on his terms. I felt like I was losing myself in the process," Theresa said, a mix of anger and sadness rising in her chest.
"Let's shift gears for a moment," David said, turning his attention to a different aspect of their relationship. "You mentioned Jonathan's affairs. Can you elaborate on your awareness of them?"
Theresa hesitated, weighing the words carefully. "I suspected he was cheating. He would come home smelling of perfume that wasn't mine, and sometimes he would leave late at night with excuses that didn't add up. I confronted him once, and he denied everything. But I could see the change in him—the way he looked at me was different, almost disdainful."
"Did you ever find out about any specific affairs?" David asked, his voice steady.
"No, not directly," Theresa said, shaking her head. "But the atmosphere in our home shifted. I felt like I was living with a stranger, someone who resented me for not being what he wanted. I was young and impressionable, and it felt like I was in a constant battle to prove my worth."
David approached the jury, a calculated smile on his face. "Ms. Monroe, let's address the elephant in the room. You've claimed your marriage was marred by abuse, yet you willingly accepted a lifestyle that many would envy. Isn't that true?"
"Yes, but—" Theresa began, her voice faltering under the weight of his gaze.
"No 'buts,' Ms. Monroe," he interrupted sharply. "You received extravagant gifts from your husband, didn't you? A luxury car that you were thrilled to drive?"
"Yes," she admitted reluctantly, feeling the tension in the room tighten around her.
"And that beautiful off-building he constructed for you, where you could indulge in hair, nails, and makeup? You never complained about having your own private retreat, did you?" David pressed, his tone dripping with disdain.
"I didn't want to think about it," Theresa replied, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Ah, so it was easy to ignore the red flags when you were living in luxury," David stated, crossing his arms. "Tell us about those vacations to high-end resorts. You flaunted those trips to your friends, didn't you? You enjoyed sharing the lavish experiences, didn't you?"
"Of course, but that doesn't reflect what happened at home!" Theresa shot back, her frustration rising.
"Doesn't it?" David leaned in closer, eyes narrowed. "You paraded your lavish lifestyle while pretending to be a victim. You even bragged about your collective bills for designer makeup that reached thousands, didn't you?"
"That's not—" she started, but he cut her off.
"Isn't that just a way to distract from the truth? You wanted to maintain an image of a perfect life while hiding behind expensive gifts. You thought if you accepted his generosity, it would make the abuse less real. Wasn't that your strategy?"
Theresa's face fell, the pressure of the moment overwhelming. "I thought things would get better if I just went along with it..."
"Better?" David echoed incredulously. "While accepting his gifts, you were willing to tolerate his abuse. You claimed to want to love him, but isn't it true that you loved the life he provided more?"
"No! I wanted us to work!" she protested, but the desperation in her voice was palpable.
"Yet you remained in a relationship where you suffered in silence, enjoying the luxuries and dismissing the violence as mere bumps in the road. You even told friends about the extravagant gifts—almost as if you wanted validation for staying," he challenged, stepping back to let his words linger in the air.
Theresa looked away, the shame heavy on her shoulders. "I didn't mean for it to be that way..."
David seized the moment. "So, you willingly chose the luxury over your dignity. You allowed yourself to be a victim while simultaneously enjoying the fruits of that relationship. Wouldn't you agree that you were complicit in your suffering?"
"Complicit? No!" she exclaimed, frustration boiling over. "I didn't choose this!"
"But you did, Ms. Monroe," David said, his voice low and steady. "You accepted his gifts, his control, and the façade of a happy marriage while you shared photos of your lavish lifestyle with friends, didn't you?"
"Yes, but—"
"No more 'buts,'" he interrupted again. "You crafted a narrative that painted you as the victim, all while reveling in the wealth he provided. Isn't it time to admit that you were willing to ignore the abuse for the sake of comfort?"
Theresa hesitated, tears welling in her eyes. "I just wanted to believe we could be happy."
David's tone turned cold. "Happiness bought with abuse isn't happiness at all, is it? You stood by him, enjoying the perks while downplaying the violence. How can the jury believe your claims of fear and suffering when you flaunted a life of luxury?"
"I wanted to believe things would change!" she cried, feeling the weight of his accusations crashing down on her.
"Thank you, Ms. Monroe," David said, stepping back and allowing the courtroom to absorb her turmoil. "No further questions at this time."
As the tension in the courtroom hung heavy, Elaine stood up from her seat, her presence commanding attention. She moved toward Theresa, the corners of her lips slightly turned up in an encouraging smile. "Ms. Monroe, I know this is difficult, but I want to give you a chance to clarify some points."
David took his seat, and Elaine turned her full attention to Theresa, who seemed both relieved and wary.
"Theresa," Elaine began gently, "let's talk about the nature of your marriage. You've shared that it was complicated. Can you tell us more about what was happening behind closed doors?"
Theresa hesitated, her heart racing as memories flooded back. "He changed after my miscarriage," she said, her voice trembling. "The anger turned into something darker."
Elaine nodded, prompting her to continue. "And how did that manifest? Were there specific incidents that stand out?"
"I remember one night when things escalated beyond just verbal arguments," Theresa said, her voice growing louder with frustration. "He punched me square in the jaw. I fell hard, and my legs gave out beneath me. I was terrified. But it wasn't just physical; the threats he made afterward were chilling. He'd say things like if I didn't give him a son, he'd just wait until I healed."
Elaine leaned in, encouraging her to share more. "You mentioned there were threats regarding your body. Can you elaborate?"
Theresa's expression darkened. "He would force himself on me, telling me it was my duty to provide him with an heir. It felt like a violation that I could never shake off. Afterward, he'd try to make it up to me with lavish gifts, like cars and vacations, but they were just distractions. The abuse overshadowed everything."
Elaine sensed the gravity of what Theresa was revealing. "And these gifts—did they come after specific incidents of abuse?"
"Yes," Theresa admitted, bitterness creeping into her voice. "He'd think that showering me with gifts would erase what he'd done. He built a space in the backyard for me, an entire suite for hair and makeup, thinking that would make it better. It didn't."
"Did you ever confide in anyone about these incidents?" Elaine asked, her voice steady.
"No," Theresa replied, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I didn't want anyone to know. I felt trapped. I thought if I showed that I was okay with the gifts, maybe he'd change. But I was just lying to myself."
(SA WARNING! SKIP TO NEXT CHAPTER IF NEED!)
Elaine turned to the jury, her gaze intense. "So, despite the lavish gifts and the image of a perfect life, the reality was much different. You faced not just emotional abuse but physical and sexual assault, all while trying to maintain the facade of a perfect marriage. You were living in fear, yet you felt compelled to remain."
Theresa nodded, wiping away tears. "I thought I could change him, make him see how wrong he was. I wanted to believe that the love would outweigh the pain, but it only got worse."
Elaine took a moment, gauging the weight of the air in the courtroom before gently urging, "Ms. Monroe, can you share the details of the first sexual assault? It's important for the court to understand the full extent of your experience."
Theresa hesitated, her chest tightening as the memories washed over her like a wave. "It was about six months after the first physical incident," she began, her voice trembling. "He had come home late, again, drunk and reeking of whiskey. I remember thinking I'd finally had enough. When I confronted him, it was like flipping a switch. He went from calm to furious in seconds. He couldn't stand the thought that I was questioning him."
"What did he do?" Elaine prompted, her tone encouraging yet firm.
"He grabbed my wrist and yanked me into our bedroom. I could feel the panic rising in me. I tried to reason with him, to tell him I was scared and upset. But he just sneered, saying, 'You should be grateful I even bother to come home to you. Do you think anyone else would want you?'" Her voice quivered as she recalled the hurtful words that cut deep. "He shoved me onto the bed, and I felt so small, so powerless. He leaned over me, pinning my arms above my head."
The courtroom fell silent, the tension palpable as she continued. "I screamed, but he slapped his hand over my mouth. 'You're going to be quiet and take it like a good wife,' he hissed. I was terrified. In that moment, I was no longer a person; I was just a possession he could control. He forced himself on me, and all I could think was, 'How did I let it get this far? How did I let this happen?'"
Tears streamed down her face as she recalled the horror of that night. "He laughed when it was over, like it was some kind of joke. I remember him saying, 'See? You could've made this easy, but you had to push me.' That made me feel so degraded. The next day, he brought me flowers and said, 'I'm sorry, baby. It's just the stress of work.' But I knew it was a lie. He'd be right back to the same old routine, and I was trapped in it."
Elaine took a breath, her expression one of compassion. "Did you tell anyone about what had happened?"
"No," Theresa whispered, her gaze dropping. "I felt too ashamed. I thought people would say I asked for it, that I should've just complied. He made sure I knew he had the power to ruin me. He'd say, 'If you ever tell anyone, I'll make sure you regret it. You think I wouldn't? You think I care what happens to you?'"
The courtroom was silent, hanging on her every word.
"Did he ever show remorse after the assaults?" Elaine pressed.
"He'd say he was sorry, but it always felt like an afterthought. He'd bring me expensive gifts—designer clothes, trips to places I never wanted to go—but those things were just a distraction. He'd make comments like, 'Look at everything I give you. You should be grateful. This is the life I provide for you.' But what was the point of all that if I had to live in fear?"
Theresa wiped her eyes, her voice growing stronger. "I learned to smile through the pain, to act like everything was okay, even when it wasn't. He wanted me to be the perfect wife on the outside, but inside, I was crumbling. It felt like I was in a cage, and he held the key. I kept hoping he would change, that he'd see me as something more than just a trophy. But all he saw was control."
Elaine nodded, allowing the weight of Theresa's testimony to resonate before continuing, "And what about the threats? Did he ever say anything that made you feel particularly vulnerable?"
Theresa's expression hardened. "Yes. After the assaults, he would say things like, 'If you think anyone is going to believe you, you're wrong. You think they'll side with you over me? I'm the one with the money, the power. You're just a nobody from the South Side. No one cares about your sob story.' It made me feel like I was suffocating. He knew exactly how to hit me where it hurt."
As she spoke, the atmosphere in the courtroom shifted. The raw honesty in her words painted a picture of a woman caught in a relentless cycle of abuse, desperately seeking a way out while grappling with the fear and shame that bound her.