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FIFTY-THREE

SARAH MORGAN

ONE YEAR LATER

I’m seated across from Caroline Wood of 60 Minutes on a cozy set that resembles a sitting area one would have in their own home. She’s an elegant woman, fifteen years my senior, dressed in a pair of expensive slacks, a silk blouse, and a smart blazer. Her hair is a shiny gray, stopping right at her shoulders in a perfectly cut bob. She looks down at her note cards, reviewing them before the cameras start rolling. I know there’s a teleprompter set up for her behind me, but she’s old-school, and she likes the feel of paper in her hands.

A young woman readjusts my hair so it falls symmetrically to either side of my chest. She powders my face and delivers a soft smile before scurrying behind the crew.

A man yells out, “Quiet on set,” and then asks us if we’re ready. Caroline and I nod.

She offers a tight smile. It disappears just as quick as she readies herself to begin. I don’t hear the introduction for my interview, as it was previously recorded—but I know what was said, and I know how I’ll be introduced. This is the first interview I’ve agreed to. I’ve had dozens of offers, many attached to large amounts of cash. But I don’t need or want the money. I just want to tell a story.

“Did you always believe your husband Adam Morgan was innocent?” she asks, getting right into it.

“No, I knew he was, which is why I chose to stand by his side as his wife and as his lawyer.”

“Did you blame yourself when he was found guilty?”

“For a long time I did, until the news broke a little over a year ago that the sheriff in charge of the investigation had withheld evidence, including an affair he had been having with the victim. Then, I blamed the justice system.”

“It must have been awful to learn that your husband was not only wrongfully accused of murder, but was also wrongly executed,” she says, slightly tilting her head.

I take a short, deep breath. “It was devastating. Adam was the love of my life, and the commonwealth of Virginia murdered him right in front of my eyes.”

She pauses for a moment, allowing me the time to gather myself. There’s nothing to gather though.

“Tell me about Robert Miller,” Caroline says.

“Bob?” I correct. Robert was too distinguished of a name for him. “He wasn’t who I thought he was.”

“But you married him. He was your second husband.”

“Unfortunately,” I say.

“Did you ever suspect that Bob murdered Kelly Summers and then framed Adam for his crime?”

It’s a stupid question, but I answer it anyway.

“No, not even in the slightest.”

“And how do you think he got away with it?” she asks.

“He didn’t.”

“But he did for a long time. How do you think that was possible?” She maintains eye contact with me, rarely blinking. It’s unnerving, but I mirror her.

“The Prince William County Sheriff’s Office made that possible. They were essentially an accomplice to Bob’s crimes,” I say, lifting my chin.

“What about you, Sarah? How was he able to get so close to you?”

I clear my throat before I speak. “I was vulnerable, and he knew that. I lost my husband the day he was found guilty and put on death row. The world thought he was a monster, so I wasn’t able to even grieve him properly. It’s a horrible feeling to lose someone and for no one else to care because they don’t deem it as a loss. Bob took advantage of my grief and my vulnerability. The whole situation was beyond complicated for me to process. But Bob was there when no one else was, and that made it easy for him to get close to me.”

“Do you regret marrying him?”

I shake my head. “No, he gave me two things I wouldn’t have had otherwise. My daughter, Summer, and closure.”

“What do you mean by ‘closure’?”

“I know what really happened to Kelly Summers now, and the world does too. If I hadn’t married Bob, I’m not sure I would have ever discovered the truth,” I say with a bit of conviction.

“How has all of this affected your daughter?”

“Her grief is complicated, like mine was with Adam when the world thought he was a monster. She understands her father’s actions were immoral, vile, and unforgivable, but he was still her dad. It’s been really hard for her, but she’s doing much better now.”

I did feel awful telling Summer what had happened to her father and what he had done. It took her a while to wrap her head around it. She didn’t believe it—for good reason, because it wasn’t true. But eventually, she came to terms with the narrative. We’re much better off now, just like I knew we would be. And she’s taken a liking to Alejandro too. He’s nice to have around; my relationship with him isn’t anything serious, mostly just sex. Plus, he’s a little bit of a loose end, and the only way to ensure loose ends don’t unravel is to keep them close. And I say little because who would ever believe the word of a felon? I mean, a person with felon status. Alejandro and I both have skeletons in our closets, and we know exactly who they are.

“Do you think you were a part of Bob’s master plan or merely a bonus?”

“I don’t know what I was to him, and I don’t care to know.”

“Understandable,” she says with a nod. “Adam’s mother, Eleanor Rumple, passed away before the conviction of her son was overturned. How do you think she would have felt had she been alive to see her son’s name finally cleared?”

“She would have been thrilled, and it’s a tragedy she didn’t get to witness that.”

“It certainly is,” Caroline says. “A federal jury in Virginia awarded you thirty-two million dollars for the wrongful conviction and execution of your husband Adam Morgan. Are you happy with that settlement?”

“Not really. How could that make me happy? It doesn’t undo what they did. It doesn’t bring Adam back.”

She pulls her lips in and nods before moving on with the interview. “Do you have any plans for the money?”

It’s an insensitive question, but people want to know.

“A portion of it will be set aside in a trust for Summer. I plan to reinvest the rest of it into the Morgan Foundation, intending to use the funds to continue to provide pro bono legal work to those who can’t afford it, as well as expand our Second Chance program, which helps previously incarcerated individuals reenter society in a positive and productive manner.”

“That’s very admirable, Sarah. Most people would take a vacation or retire early.”

“I’m not most people.”

She tightly smiles. “No, you are not. You have an incredible story, one that many have called stranger than fiction. You’ve lost so much, endured more than most could ever imagine, and yet you continue to persevere. You’ve made it your life’s mission to help others, despite the fact that there was no one there to help you and your husband Adam when you needed it. Do you feel any sort of resentment?”

“I’d be lying if I said no.”

“Then how is it you choose to lead with generosity and compassion?”

It’s the last question. I know this because I had them sent over beforehand so I could prepare my answers. This one I practiced more than all the others to ensure I hit the right tone and message. It’s short and sweet, rather ridiculous too. But America will eat it up. Good versus evil is mankind’s oldest fight. It’s clichéd and overly simplified because people aren’t inherently good or evil. They’re a little of both, maybe more of one than the other, but that’s too complicated for most to digest. So, I’ll give them simple. The light on set brightens just a little before I answer. How poetic.

“I don’t have a choice, Caroline. It’s just who I am,” I say with a soft, angelic smile.