“You’re a suspect for murder and the fact that the woman you were sleeping with killed her first husband slipped your mind?” There’s anger in her voice. Once again, I don’t blame her.

“She was never formally charged,” I argue.

“Yes, she was. The case fell apart in the middle of the trial after evidence went missing—which, from the looks of it, Scott may have helped make disappear.” She tightens her jaw.

Anne crosses her arms in front of her chest. Matthew shakes his head. I wish the two of them weren’t here. I don’t need the additional judgment. Mine and Sarah’s judgment is more than enough.

“Kelly said she didn’t do it,” I confess.

“That’s what all murderers say,” Anne pipes up.

“Isn’t that what you’ve been saying?” Matthew smirks at me.

Sarah turns around and shoots a look at Matthew. I can’t see her face, but Matthew says, “Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” so I know she’s sticking up for me. Matthew has always been protective of Sarah, and I can understand the cutting remarks, but I appreciate Sarah defending me.

“Your arraignment is in one hour,” Anne interjects. She pulls a pair of pants, a button-down shirt, a tie, and dress shoes from her bag and slides them toward me.

“You’ll need to enter your plea as you’re being officially charged for the murder of Kelly Rose Summers and her unborn child,” Sarah says. Her eyes meet mine. She tightens her face, but a tear breaks through, and before the dam opens, she wipes it away and takes a couple of small breaths—closing the dam for now… or maybe for good.

I nod as I knew this was coming. Sarah told me yesterday.

“If you plead not guilty, the D.A. will try for the death penalty. If you plead guilty, they’re offering twenty-five years with no possibility of parole. What would you like to plea?”

“Well, not guilty of course. I didn’t fucking do this.” Anger grabs hold of my voice.

She nods. “All right. We’ll be back in an hour for your arraignment.”

They pack up their stuff and walk out, leaving me there alone with a pile of clothing.

25. Sarah Morgan

25

Sarah Morgan

Anne, Matthew, and I walk to a small coffee shop across the street as we have thirty minutes before Adam’s arraignment. Matthew and I take our seats at a high-top table, while Anne orders us coffee.

“Adam looks awful. I’ve never seen him like that,” Matthew says. “It’s been a while but still.”