Deborah’s attorney attempted, during cross-examination, to suggest I’d exaggerated the severity of the confrontation given my position as a judge, implying some ulterior motive behind the prosecution.
⸻
“Isn’t it true,” the attorney asked, “that your professional position gives you considerable influence over how this case has been prosecuted?”
I looked directly at the jury before answering, wanting them to see exactly how deliberately I intended to address the question.
“I’ve spent my entire career ensuring the law applies equally, regardless of position or influence,” I said. “I’d be a hypocrite of the highest order if I suddenly expected different treatment the moment I became a victim myself.”
⸻
“My professional position gave me nothing beyond what any other victim of assault deserves,” I said. “A documented injury. Credible witnesses. Evidence that speaks for itself, regardless of what I do for a living.”
⸻
The jury deliberated for three hours before returning a guilty verdict on both counts, assault and attempted custodial interference.
⸻
Deborah received eighteen months, twelve suspended pending successful completion of anger management counseling and two years of probation.
I remember sitting quietly as the sentence was read, feeling something complicated settle over me, relief mixed with an unexpected sadness for the family relationship that had once, briefly, seemed salvageable before that hospital room proved otherwise.
⸻
Grant sat beside me throughout the entire trial, his support unwavering despite the obvious difficulty of watching his own mother face criminal prosecution for what she’d done.
He held my hand through every session, squeezing gently whenever the testimony grew particularly difficult to listen to.
⸻
