Chapter 6: Cruelty
Court resumed the next day. The SUPPORT bar had settled at 35% overnight—a dangerous number.
Comments from the previous evening still scrolled: *Maybe she should just take the money and go. Why drag everyone through this?*
Patricia stood. "Your Honor, we'd like to call our next witness."
I rose instead. "I'll take the stand myself."
Patricia hesitated, then nodded.
As I settled into the witness chair, millions of eyes fixed on me through the screen.
Marcus's team looked confident. Helena whispered something to Serena, who smiled.
"Mrs. Blackwell," Patricia began, "your husband testified that you became cold and distant. That you withdrew from your son. Can you explain?"
I gripped the armrest, then released it.
"I had a miscarriage at seven months," I said. "A boy. We were going to name him Daniel."
The courtroom stilled.
"I was in the hospital for three weeks. Marcus visited once—for forty minutes, on day two. He spent the rest of the time at a company retreat in Aspen. With Serena."
I paused, letting that land.
"When I came home, I could barely walk. Helena told me to stop moping because I was upsetting Oliver. She said—" My voice caught. "She said 'plenty of women lose babies, Vivienne. You're not special.'"
A ripple of discomfort moved through the gallery.
"I fell into depression. I begged Marcus for counseling—together or alone. He said I was being hysterical. He said I was embarrassing him in front of his mother."
The SUPPORT bar ticked upward. 37%. 39%.
"As for Oliver—" My throat tightened. "I never stopped loving my son. But Helena systematically turned him against me. She told him Mommy was sick in the head. She told him Serena was his 'fun aunt' who actually wanted to play with him."
I looked at the gallery. Oliver wasn't there. Helena had made sure of that.
"Eventually, my four-year-old son told me he wished Serena was his real mommy."
The bar climbed to 44%.
Grant Wheeler stood quickly. "Your Honor, this is emotional manipulation, not evidence."
"I have evidence," I said quietly.
Patricia clicked the remote.
The courtroom screens lit up with security footage—clear, timestamped, undeniable.
Helena in the playroom, crouching beside Oliver. "Your mommy doesn't really love you, sweetheart. If she did, she wouldn't cry all the time. Serena loves you. See how she always smiles?"
Oliver's small voice: "Is Mommy broken?"
Helena: "Yes, darling. But don't worry. We'll take care of you."
The footage cut to another clip. Marcus and Serena in the kitchen, Oliver between them, laughing. Serena lifting him onto the counter, kissing his cheek.
Then Marcus's voice, casual and cold: "He doesn't even ask for her anymore. Makes things easier."
The courtroom was dead silent.
The SUPPORT bar rocketed to 58%.
Marcus's face was ashen. Helena gripped the armrest of her seat, knuckles white.
Wheeler scrambled. "Your Honor, these recordings may have been obtained illegally—"
"The security system is registered to my client," Patricia interrupted smoothly. "It was installed in her home, which she co-owns. The recordings are entirely legal."
Judge Calloway's expression was granite. She said nothing, but her eyes moved between Marcus and the screen with unmistakable coldness.
The OPPOSE bar had frozen at 22%.
But I wasn't done.
Comments from the previous evening still scrolled: *Maybe she should just take the money and go. Why drag everyone through this?*
Patricia stood. "Your Honor, we'd like to call our next witness."
I rose instead. "I'll take the stand myself."
Patricia hesitated, then nodded.
As I settled into the witness chair, millions of eyes fixed on me through the screen.
Marcus's team looked confident. Helena whispered something to Serena, who smiled.
"Mrs. Blackwell," Patricia began, "your husband testified that you became cold and distant. That you withdrew from your son. Can you explain?"
I gripped the armrest, then released it.
"I had a miscarriage at seven months," I said. "A boy. We were going to name him Daniel."
The courtroom stilled.
"I was in the hospital for three weeks. Marcus visited once—for forty minutes, on day two. He spent the rest of the time at a company retreat in Aspen. With Serena."
I paused, letting that land.
"When I came home, I could barely walk. Helena told me to stop moping because I was upsetting Oliver. She said—" My voice caught. "She said 'plenty of women lose babies, Vivienne. You're not special.'"
A ripple of discomfort moved through the gallery.
"I fell into depression. I begged Marcus for counseling—together or alone. He said I was being hysterical. He said I was embarrassing him in front of his mother."
The SUPPORT bar ticked upward. 37%. 39%.
"As for Oliver—" My throat tightened. "I never stopped loving my son. But Helena systematically turned him against me. She told him Mommy was sick in the head. She told him Serena was his 'fun aunt' who actually wanted to play with him."
I looked at the gallery. Oliver wasn't there. Helena had made sure of that.
"Eventually, my four-year-old son told me he wished Serena was his real mommy."
The bar climbed to 44%.
Grant Wheeler stood quickly. "Your Honor, this is emotional manipulation, not evidence."
"I have evidence," I said quietly.
Patricia clicked the remote.
The courtroom screens lit up with security footage—clear, timestamped, undeniable.
Helena in the playroom, crouching beside Oliver. "Your mommy doesn't really love you, sweetheart. If she did, she wouldn't cry all the time. Serena loves you. See how she always smiles?"
Oliver's small voice: "Is Mommy broken?"
Helena: "Yes, darling. But don't worry. We'll take care of you."
The footage cut to another clip. Marcus and Serena in the kitchen, Oliver between them, laughing. Serena lifting him onto the counter, kissing his cheek.
Then Marcus's voice, casual and cold: "He doesn't even ask for her anymore. Makes things easier."
The courtroom was dead silent.
The SUPPORT bar rocketed to 58%.
Marcus's face was ashen. Helena gripped the armrest of her seat, knuckles white.
Wheeler scrambled. "Your Honor, these recordings may have been obtained illegally—"
"The security system is registered to my client," Patricia interrupted smoothly. "It was installed in her home, which she co-owns. The recordings are entirely legal."
Judge Calloway's expression was granite. She said nothing, but her eyes moved between Marcus and the screen with unmistakable coldness.
The OPPOSE bar had frozen at 22%.
But I wasn't done.