Page 75

Epilogue

Cyprus

Taking a deep breath, I felt Birch squeeze my hand. My fingers had been working the piece of paper in my hands for over an hour.

I folded and unfolded, I opened it wide and stared at what I had written down, and still it somehow felt unfinished. It shouldn't, it should have been done, it should have been filled with everything I wanted to say to that man.

And as I sat there, re-reading it over and over, it just didn't feel like my feelings were captured well enough in my letter.

“Are you ready?” The prosecutor asked, leaning down and softly speaking into my ear. “You don't have to do this if you don't want to, you can still turn it down.”

“No, I want to—I need to.”

Birch kissed my cheek, gently nuzzling his forehead against my temple. “Just tell him the truth.” His hand stroked up and down my back, confident and strong. “Don't worry about what you wrote, just tell him what you feel.”

It felt like this day took forever to get here. We sat back and listened to the prosecutor and defense attorney go back and forth over sentencing terms and what each deemed necessary for the crime. There was no debate Nick was going to be spending the rest of his life behind bars, it was the meager details that they fought over now.

Nick plead guilty, he wasn't fighting them and trying to ease his own suffering. He wanted this all to be over as much as we did. But lawyers still played the push and pull game.

The prosecutor wanted murder charges on everything he confessed to. The defense wanted to split hairs and try to have some of the chargers changed from murder to second degree murder and manslaughter.

No matter which way they wrote it, Nick was destined to die behind steel bars and four feet of cement. I didn't see the point in this game, but it wasn't up to me.

A small foot kicked my rib, jogging me awake. Our son tumbled and turned, doing acrobatics in my gut, making me wince as he shoved a limb into my kidney.

And that's when it all came together, right then, as I held my breath and waited for my child to snuggle into place.

I know what I need to say. . .

“I'm ready,” I said, looking up at Loretta Scott, prosecutor for the state of Rhode Island.

Her thin face twisted in a tender smile, eyes thinning as years of stress created thick crows feet at the outer corners. “Alright.” Nodding, she rested her hand on mine and patted the top. “Judge Carmichael, before you hand down your ruling, Fiona Deltorro would like to speak.”

Nodding, the judge waved his hand. “Ms. Deltorro, the floor is yours.”

Birch's fingers fell off my back as I stood, their presence fading as my skin cooled on the longest walk of my life. It was only ten feet maybe less to the podium, but it felt like I walked a mile to get there.

Nick was sitting at the defense table, hands folded on top, eyes opened wide staring at me. He didn't look upset or angry, he didn't look nervous or uncomfortable that I was about to tell him everything that I felt about him.

He was calm, but eager, I could tell by the way his fingertips repeatedly tapped into each other. It was the only sign I had that he was actually listening. A motion I had grown up watching, a subtle mannerism that most would never spot.

But I could. Because I knew my parents killer, I knew him like a daughter would know her father.

Unfolding the paper, I smoothed it out on the glossy platform, doing my best to not let my emotions take over. I could feel the tears as they sat in the back of my sockets, waiting for the perfect moment to take over.

Taking in a deep breath, I looked down at my victim impact statement and sighed.This isn't it, this isn't what I want to say.

Clearing my throat, I swallowed hard. “I had a whole long letter that I wrote for today. I spent days trying to get it right, trying to find the perfect words to use so you would know exactly what you had done to me. . .” Thumbing the edge of the sheet, I fiddled with the corner. “But this—this isn't it.”

Allowing my eyes to meet Nick's, he gave me that same fatherly smile I had seen that day in the woods. My nerves seemed to settle and that smile had somehow given me the strength to articulate everything inside.

“You did so many horrible things to me and to so many others. But you don't need me to stand here and tell you again what those things were. This isn't just about what you did, it's about who you did it to. It's about how your actions affected others, and how it changed us in ways you refused to let yourself feel.”

Lifting my chin higher, I refused to break eye contact with him. “Because it did change us, it changed not only my life but your son's too. It changed the life of your wife and the life of the unborn grandchild you're never going to be able to see. My gift to you is the same gift your actions gave my parents. You won't have the chance to be there and see him take his first steps, listen to his first words, or feel what it's like to have a grandchild hug you and love you. For our child, your memory will be a lie, just like my life. We won't share these details with him, we won't ever let him feel the hurt and pain that his grandfather caused in our world. But that pain, that pain is on you. Because I will be there, Birch will be there, and we're going to teach our son what it means to truly be loved.”

Nick dropped his chin into his chest as he eyed my growing stomach, knowing full well that I was right. But his eyes, his eyes said something else. They spoke to me, telling me that he knew, that he was okay with all of this because him behind bars meant his son wouldn't be.

My heart tore open for him. I was staring into the eyes of the father I had grown up with. The man who did love his family despite his addiction to power. He put himself here for his son, he did it to save us from anymore hurt.