It wasn’t like I could control her.
She may be my wife, but it was in name only.
Plus, we barely knew each other.
It wasn’t like there would be any consequences for her if I’d protested and she showed up anyway.
I was literally in jail.
I couldn’t control anything she did.
“Can you tell us about that day?” the slimeball asked.
I’d dubbed him “slimeball” because he’d made light of what had happened to Sage.
He hadn’t thought it to be a big deal at all.
A “simple misunderstanding” in his book.
I called it straight-up rape, but it wasn’t like I could make him comprehend that.
If my hands were free, I might could beat some sense into him.
But other than that…
“Where do you want me to start?” Sage asked sweetly.
“How about when you saw Mr. Kelly in the coffee shop.”
Sage spoke about her evening, what had led her to that coffee shop, then leaving the coffee shop when Nadine had arrived.
“You speak of Nadine like you didn’t like her,” the prosecutor accused her.
Sage crossed her arms over her chest.
It pushed her breasts up in the dress she was wearing.
Which I’d thought to be completely demure until that moment.
The prosecutor and one of the jury members noticed as well, their eyes zoomed in on her cleavage.
“I didn’t like her,” Sage interrupted my feast of her breasts. “She was an awful teacher. She pushed her ideals on you. She got mad when you didn’t think the same way that she did. She got angry when we said something that contradicted her. Then she graded us so harshly that most of the class had to either drop it or take a failing grade.”
“And you didn’t drop her class?”
“No,” she said. “I’ve been very good about pretending my entire life. What was a summer course, when I spent the majority of my life pretending that I was happy when I wasn’t?”
Her words made my stomach clench.
“And do you think that it was understandable that Nadine Woolsy wouldn’t want a violent man having time with her child?”
“I think that she didn’t know him at all, and that it only made her sound even more disillusioned. I’ve never gotten anything but calm vibes from Gen—Ramsey.”
“What happened after you left the coffee shop?” the prosecutor directed her.
“I headed to where my car was parked. When I got to the parking lot, Mario O’Neal was there and directed me to get in the car.”
The next five minutes we listened to her recount what had happened in those minutes when she’d left the coffee shop and when I’d gotten there.
