Chapter 92 Your Honor, We Request a Fifteen-Minute Recess
Her voice cracked on the last word. She swallowed, blinked hard, but continued.
“I broke down. I told him I wanted a divorce. We were on the staircase— I was halfway down, he was below me. I said I was leaving and taking Pete. He grabbed my arm, hard. I tried to pull away. He shoved me— both hands on my chest. I lost my balance. I fell backward, hit the banister, then the steps. My head struck the marble at the bottom. I don’t remember anything after that for months.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks now, silent and steady. She didn’t wipe them away.
“Before the fall there was other abuse— emotional, mostly. Belittling me in front of friends. After I came home from the hospital— after I lost my memories— he brought the woman home. Amelia. He showed me a contract I had supposedly signed years earlier, agreeing to a polygamous arrangement. He said it was binding. He said if I fought it I’d lose everything— including our son.”
Marcus rose again. “Objection— Your Honor, this is uncorroborated narrative—”
“Sustained in part,” the judge said. “But the witness may continue. Counsel, sit.”
Marcus sat, jaw tight.
Maggie kept going, her voice quieter now but steady.
“Even after the fall, when I had no memory, he was cold. Controlling. He never once came to the master bedroom after he brought her into the house. He spent every night with her. Treating me like I never existed. Like a stranger in my own house.”
Her breathing faltered slightly.
“It reached the lowest point of my soul the evening I barged into the guest room they were sharing and caught Andrew sleeping with her. I cried when I saw them. Then I confronted him. He remained unapologetic… and even shoved me hard against the hallway wall during the confrontation.”
She swallowed.
“That was when I knew I had to leave. If I wanted to live, I had to leave. That day, I made a very tough decision— leaving my boy with them and running for my life.”
She stopped. Her shoulders trembled once.
“I have nothing left to hide,” she whispered. “That’s the truth.”
She started to rise.
Marcus was up immediately. “Your Honor, permission to cross-examine.”
Aisha stood. “Your Honor—”
The judge raised her hand again. “Granted. Ms. Patel, sit.”
Maggie’s eyes flicked to her lawyer— wide, pained, glistening. Aisha gave her a small, fierce nod: You’ve got this.
Marcus approached the stand slowly, hands clasped behind his back.
“Ms. Moon,” he began, voice smooth, almost gentle. “You claim my client pushed you down the stairs. Do you have any photographs of injuries from that day? Medical records showing trauma consistent with an intentional fall?”
Maggie’s throat worked. “I… the hospital records exist. They treated me for a concussion.”
“But nothing that proves the fall was not accidental?”
“It wasn’t accidental.”
Marcus smiled faintly— patient, pitying. “So you’re asking this court to believe your word alone that my client committed an act of attempted murder— without a single piece of corroborating evidence?”
Maggie looked at him. Tears brimmed again. “It happened.”
Marcus let the silence hang, then chuckled once— soft, disbelieving.
“You also claim you saw a video of my client with another woman. Do you have that video?”
“No.”
“So no proof of infidelity either.”
Maggie’s gaze slid to Aisha. Her lawyer’s face was tight, furious, but silent.
“And this supposed contract,” Marcus continued, “the one that allegedly forced you into a polygamous arrangement. Do you have that document?”
Before Maggie could answer, Marcus turned to the bench. “She can’t produce it, Your Honor—”
Aisha shot to her feet. “Objection— Your Honor, we do have a copy of that document with us today.”
Andrew’s head snapped up. For the first time that afternoon his composure fractured— mouth parting, eyes widening, color draining from his cheeks in a single visible rush.
Marcus spun toward his table. “What?”
Aisha held up a manila folder. “We have the original signed contract. It was subpoenaed from the respondent’s safe-deposit box two days ago.”
Andrew’s lawyer stared at him. Andrew stared back— blank, stunned.
The judge motioned to the bailiff. “Bring it here.”
The bailiff crossed the room, took the folder from Aisha, carried it to the bench.
The judge opened it. Pages rustled. She read— slowly, methodically. Minutes passed. The courtroom was so quiet the air-conditioner sounded loud.
Finally she looked up.
“Counsel for the respondent— what do you have to say about this document?”
Marcus glanced at Andrew— confusion flashing across his face— then back to the bench.
“Your Honor… the document must be false. A fabricated piece. My client had no knowledge of any such contract.”
“Are you asserting that this is a forgery created by the petitioner’s team?”
Marcus hesitated. “It must be.”
The judge handed the folder to the bailiff. “Show it to Mr. Lock’s counsel.”
The bailiff carried it to the respondent’s table.
Marcus opened it. His eyes scanned— rapid, disbelieving. He leaned down to Andrew. They whispered— short, urgent exchanges. Andrew’s face hardened again, but his hands shook once before he clasped them.
Marcus straightened. “Your Honor, we request a fifteen-minute recess.”