Chapter 285 Garrett

Chapter 285 Garrett
Garrett

For one stunned second, the entire courtroom froze.

I stared at Graves, barely breathing. After everything his lawyers had just said about me imagining his interest, about me pursuing him, about him making one regrettable mistake... he had stood in front of the entire jury and called me his.

Not his patient. His.

The horror on his attorneys’ faces would’ve almost been funny under any other circumstances. One of them had gone completely pale while the other grabbed Graves by the arm. “Dr. Graves, sit down. Now.”

Then the courtroom exploded.
Voices rose from every direction. Reporters shouted over one another, people stood from their seats, and somewhere behind me someone cursed loud enough to make the bailiff turn. My father stared at Graves with an expression I had never seen before. Pure fucking murder.

The judge’s gavel struck again and again. “Order! Order in this courtroom!” When nobody settled quickly enough, he turned toward the jury. “Members of the jury, you will return to the jury room immediately. Court is in recess.”

I remained on the witness stand as the jury filed out, still shaking too badly to trust my legs. Graves’s attorneys closed around him, whispering furiously while one of them forced him back into his chair. He barely seemed to hear them.

He kept looking at me.
And somehow, that was the part that terrified me most. He didn’t look embarrassed or afraid. He looked hurt.
As if he felt his own people had just betrayed me and what he thought we had.

I saw Aslan, already staring at me, his whole body tense, but the second our eyes met, he pressed his hand against his heart.
I breathed.

When court resumed, Graves sat rigidly between his attorneys and never spoke another word. The defense attorney stood, visibly shaken. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

The prosecutor rose for redirect. “Mr. Williams, did you initiate sexual contact with Dr. Graves?”

“No, sir. Not ever.”

“Were you ever sexually or romantically attracted to him?”

“Never.”

I looked at Graves one last time from the stand. There was pain in his eyes, but beneath it, something even more disturbing. He gave an almost imperceptible nod before slowly closing his eyes.
Understanding?
As if he genuinely believed I was only saying what I had to say to protect myself. As if he understood. Forgave me, even.
Like somewhere inside his sick fucking mind, there was still an us.

“No further questions.”

The judge excused me, and somehow I made it down from the stand and back to my seat. Behind me, Aslan was already standing up as he pulled me against his chest for a quick hug.

I buried my face against his neck and held on.
I didn’t care about the reporters anymore. I didn’t care about the jury, my parents, or anyone else watching me fall apart in his arms.

I had barely managed to steady my breathing when the prosecutor stood again.
“The State calls Helena Williams.”

Across the room, my mother stood.
She looked composed as she walked toward the witness stand. Back straight. Chin high. Ready to explain to everyone why she had only ever done what was necessary.

After she was sworn in and the routine questions were out of the way, the prosecutor requested permission to treat her as a hostile witness. The judge granted it.

“Mrs. Williams, your son testified that he began regular counseling with Dr. Graves at twelve. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why did a twelve-year-old require private counseling twice a week?”

“My son was exceptionally intelligent, but Garrett has always been strong-willed. Independent. He questioned authority and surrounded himself with influences I didn’t always consider appropriate.”

“Was he failing school?”

“No.”

“Had he been suspended?”

“Of course not.”

“Violent?”

“Not at that age.”

“So what exactly concerned you?”

She hesitated. “I wanted to make sure his intelligence and independence were directed properly. We knew Dr. Graves to be a brilliant man with strong values. He understood Garrett.”

The prosecutor nodded. “And over time, those twice-weekly sessions became regular private sessions between Dr. Graves and your son?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever ask what happened during those private sessions?”

“No. But my son was compliant, and I saw that as progress.”

“Let’s move forward two years. What happened immediately before you removed Garrett from school and sent him to Spring Creek?”

My mother’s jaw tightened. “I discovered him in an inappropriate situation with another boy.”

“James Moore?”

“Yes.”

“What were they doing?”

She looked straight ahead. “Kissing.”

A murmur moved through the courtroom.

“Was Garrett failing school then?”

“No.”

“Had he been expelled, arrested, or become violent?”

“No, but that was hardly the only concern.”

“What was the concern?”

“My son was fourteen years old and being exposed to things he was not emotionally or spiritually prepared to understand.”

The prosecutor didn’t let her hide there. “You mean attraction to another boy?”

“Yes.”

“Did you believe that attraction needed to be corrected?”

“I believed my son was being led down a sinful path that was contrary to our faith and to the life we had raised him to live.” Her voice never wavered. “Dr. Graves agreed that early intervention could prevent those impulses from becoming part of his identity.”

There it was. Not crazy. Not violent. Not dangerous. Just me.

“Who recommended Spring Creek?”

“Dr. Graves.”

“And what did he tell you it could accomplish?”

“That we could still fix this situation.”

“Fix Garrett’s homosexuality?” The prosecutor corrected her.

“Fix his confusion.”

The entire room stirred, but my mother completely ignored the reaction her words were causing. “Garrett could learn discipline, control his impulses, and understand that not every desire should be indulged simply because it exists.”

The prosecutor glanced down at his notes. “When Garrett returned from Spring Creek almost a year later, how would you describe him?”

“Focused. Quiet. More serious about his future.”

“He isolated himself from other people, didn’t he?”

“He stopped surrounding himself with bad influences.”

“He was frightened of physical affection.”

“He had learned appropriate boundaries.”

My stomach turned.

“He later began seeing girls from families you approved of?”

“Yes.”

“And you believed he was doing well?”

“Very well.”

“Until Aslan Rivers arrived at Crownwell.”

For the first time, something changed in her face. “Yes.”

The prosecutor picked up another file. “Aslan Rivers. Excellent academic record. Scholarship student. Successful internship. No history of drugs, crime, or disciplinary problems. What exactly made him a bad influence?”

My mother stared at him. “Their relationship was just inappropriate.”

“Because they were both male?”

“Because I believe that relationship is sinful.”

A wave of whispers rolled across the room.

The prosecutor waited for it to settle. “Did Garrett ever tell you that Dr. Graves was hurting him?”

Her expression shifted. “Garrett made many accusations when he was frightened or resisting treatment.”

“That wasn’t my question. Did he tell you Graves hurt him?”

“Yes.”

“Did he ever beg you not to send him back?”

Her eyes flickered toward me. “Yes.”

“Did he tell you he was afraid of Dr. Graves?”

“Yes, but Dr. Graves had warned us that fear and accusations were common forms of resistance.”

“And you believed Dr. Graves instead of your son?”

“I believed the doctor responsible for his treatment.”

“Did all of this treatment take place without family present?”

“Yes. He said Garrett responded better without outside emotional interference.”

I felt Aslan lean closer from behind me.

“Before today, did you know what Dr. Graves' stimulation therapy involved?”

“No.” For the first time, my mother’s control cracked. “I didn’t know he was sexually abusing my son.”

“Do you regret sending Garrett to Spring Creek?”

“I deeply regret what happened to him. I believed I was helping my son. I trusted a doctor who betrayed that trust.”

The prosecutor watched her for a moment. “Did you believe you were helping your son when you watched Aslan Rivers collapse and made no immediate attempt to get him help? Or when, on the day of Garrett’s suicide attempt, you knowingly told him that Aslan was dead?”

My mother’s expression barely changed. “Some weeds need to be pulled out by the roots for flowers to blossom.”

The silence that followed was brutal.

The prosecutor stared at her. “And Aslan Rivers was the weed?”

“He was an influence preventing my son from becoming the man he was meant to be.”

“After all you have heard in this courtroom, do you still believe Garrett’s relationship with Aslan is sinful?”

My mother lifted her chin. “My beliefs have not changed because one man abused my trust. I will not apologize for trying to save my son’s soul. I would never knowingly send him somewhere to be abused, but sometimes loving your child means fighting for them even when they hate you for it.”

The prosecutor didn’t say anything for several seconds.
He didn’t need to.

My mother had walked onto that stand determined to prove she had never been responsible for what happened to me.
Instead, she had just told an entire courtroom exactly why it had happened.