Page 21 of Client Privilege
“The plaintiff calls Nurse Rebecca Torres,” Damian announced.
A woman in scrubs entered, clearly having come directly from her hospital shift. After being sworn in, she sat with the professional composure of someone accustomed to crisis.
“Nurse Torres, could you tell the court about your interaction with Alex Lajeunesse on the night of September 17th this year?”
“Mr. Lajeunesse was brought to Toronto General’s emergency department by ambulance at approximately 11:42 PM. I was the intake nurse assigned to his case.”
“What condition was he in when he arrived?”
Rebecca’s clinical demeanour softened slightly. “He had multiple injuries: three broken ribs, a concussion, lacerations requiring stitches on his back and thighs, extensive bruising across his torso and extremities, and internal bleeding that required immediate attention.”
“Were these injuries consistent with a fall, as the defence has previously suggested?”
“No.” Her answer was firm. “The pattern and nature of injuries indicated assault. The lacerations had distinctive patterns consistent with being struck by an object with edges—possibly a belt buckle. The bruising showed multiple impact points from different angles, impossible in a simple fall.”
I stared at the table, feeling exposed as she catalogued my injuries for the court to hear.
“Did you observe any other concerning signs?”
Rebecca hesitated, her professional mask slipping slightly. “Yes. Mr. Lajeunesse had injuries consistent with sexual assault. Tearing and bruising in the rectal area, bruising on the inner thighs, and defensive wounds on his wrists and forearms.”
The courtroom went completely silent. I could feel eyes on me, imagining my broken body on an emergency room table.
“What was Mr. Lajeunesse’s emotional state?”
“He was withdrawn, minimally responsive. This is consistent with acute trauma response. When asked about his injuries, he initially claimed to have fallen.”
“Did you believe this explanation?”
“No. His injuries were incompatible with that account. ”
“What actions did you take?”
“I followed hospital protocol for suspected domestic violence and sexual assault. I recommended a rape kit examination and documentation of injuries for potential legal proceedings.”
“Was this examination completed?”
“No. Mr. Lajeunesse left the hospital before we could complete it. When I returned to his room after speaking with the attending physician and warding off Mr. Delaney, he was gone.”
“In your professional opinion, based on the injuries you observed, what happened to Alex Lajeunesse that night?”
Rebecca looked directly at me, her eyes gentle despite her clinical tone.
“He was beaten severely and sexually assaulted. The injuries were deliberate and methodical, not the result of a momentary loss of control. Some wounds showed signs of being inflicted over time, with older bruising beneath newer injuries.”
“Thank you, Nurse Torres.”
Blackwood approached, his expression sympathetic but his eyes calculating. “Nurse Torres, you’ve testified about various injuries, but you have no direct knowledge of how they were inflicted, correct?”
“I observed the injuries and their patterns, which are consistent with—”
“Yes or no, please. You did not witness how these injuries occurred?”
“No, I did not witness the assault.”
“And Mr. Lajeunesse never explicitly stated that Marcus Delaney caused these injuries?”
“He didn’t name his attacker.”
“In fact, he left the hospital without completing the examination that might have provided evidence, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but that’s common in domestic violence cases. Victims often—”
“Just yes or no, please.” Blackwood cut her off. “You have no DNA evidence, no photographs, no documentation beyond your initial notes that would definitively link these injuries to my client?”
Rebecca’s frustration was visible. “The medical records—”
“Show injuries, yes. But not who caused them. Thank you, Nurse Torres. No further questions.”
As Rebecca stepped down, she paused near our table, her eyes meeting mine with silent support.
The morning session continued with testimony from the paramedics who’d responded to the 911 call from a neighbour who heard “disturbing noises” from Marcus’s apartment.
Their clinical description of finding me semi-conscious on the bathroom floor made me dissociate slightly, the courtroom fading as memories threatened to overwhelm me.
Damian’s hand on my arm brought me back. “We’re breaking for lunch,” he said quietly. “You’re doing well. The nurse’s testimony was powerful.”
I nodded, unable to speak as the bailiff announced the recess. As people began filing out, I caught Marcus watching me, his expression a perfect mask of concern that made my skin crawl.
“Don’t look at him,” Mitchell murmured, positioning himself between us. “Let’s get some air.”
In the hallway, Sandra handed me a bottle of water. “One more hour of testimony, then you’re up after lunch. Remember what we practiced—just tell your truth.”
My truth. As if it were that simple to expose three years of verbal, emotional, and physical abuse to strangers who’d never experienced anything like it. As if words could possibly convey what it felt like to be unmade piece by piece by someone who claimed to love you.
But as Damian guided me toward a private conference room, I straightened my shoulders. For the first time, people were hearing what had really happened. The truth was finally emerging from the shadows where Marcus had kept it hidden for so long.
I would tell my story. For myself. For Buster. For anyone else who might be trapped as I had been.
Marcus’s power was built on silence. Today, that silence would end.