He didn’t just send me for you, I whispered. He sent us to each other.
He closed his eyes for a moment. His mouth curving into subtlest of smiles. Then, I’ll never forget it as long as I live. Connor turned his head and pointed his dark gaze right at me. You, he said in a soft, but hoarse voice. Always you, Demi.
Then . . . he flat lined.
“Thank you, Mrs. Stevens. I know that was difficult to share,” Mr. Milton says, as I wipe my face, multiple balled up tissues in my lap. Several people in the courtroom are sniffling with me, wiping their noses with tissues.
“No further questions your honor,” Mr. Milton bellows out.
“You may step down, Mrs. Stevens,” the judge permits.
As I step down, I look over to Mrs. Jenson. She’s staring off into space, really working hard to appear insane. I want to run up to her and throttle her.
“We’ll take a recess. Court is adjourned until 9:00 am tomorrow.” The judge announces as he bangs his gavel.
Mr. Milton places a soft hand on my shoulder as I approach and squeezes gently. “You did great,” he confirms. “I know that wasn’t easy, but making the jury feel your pain makes it all the more likely to get a guilty verdict.” We watch as Mrs. Jenson is cuffed and led out of the courtroom.
“Will I need to testify again?”
“No, I don’t think so, but I’ll let you know if we need you again.”
“Thank you, Mr. Milton.”
I walk briskly out of the courtroom, desperate for a familiar face, a hug from someone I love, and fresh air. My eyes feel puffy, and I know I probably have mascara spread everywhere, but I don’t care. I was just forced to relive the worst day of my life, and all I want right now is to forget about it. I just want to submerge myself in the things in my life that are good right now. When I fly out the doors, Lexi, Wendy, Jeff, Dusty, and McKenzie practically jump out of their seats and surround me. Wendy and Lexi hug me tightly.
“Are you okay?” Wendy asks.
I pull away and wipe under my eyes once again. “I think so,” I murmur. But I’m not. I’m not okay. Because I need to see him. I should see Connor right now. I need to touch him and feel him. But he’s not here.
Looking around, I ask, “Where . . .”
“Right here, mommy,” his deep voice calls causing me to turn. “Someone needed a diaper change.”
Connor is walking down the hall toward us, diaper bag hanging off one shoulder. He’s hunched over as he walks, holding our daughter’s hand, who is just started walking in the last few months. The sight nearly takes my breath away.
When he looks up and meets my gaze he stops. Then he lets the diaper bag drop to the floor and picks up the baby, handing her to Wendy, who takes her and grabs the diaper bag.
“We’ll meet you outside,” she calls as she shoos everyone toward the exit.
Connor slides his hands in his pockets as he approaches me, his gaze never leaving mine. When he’s right in front of me, he leans down and presses his forehead to mine. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”
I close my eyes and inhale deeply. I lost Connor Stevens not once, but twice in that ambulance. After he flat lined the first time, he didn’t regain consciousness. He was in a coma for a week while he underwent surgeries. It was the second time in my life that I had to stand by, powerless, and watch a man I love suffer. I can’t even begin to describe what a horrible feeling that is. And I can’t deny that day has left some pretty severe scars for me. I wake up panicked sometimes, frantically reaching out for him in the night, convinced he’s not there. But he always is. And he always presses his forehead to mine and tells me, I’m here, baby. I’m right here.
“I’m sorry,” I weep just before he pulls me in his arms.
“Don’t be,” he says, before kissing my head. “The thought of losing you makes me feel the same way.”