My Mom Was Sentenced to Die for Killing My Dad — But Minutes Before Execution

There was a picture in my father’s wardrobe’s hidden drawer.

It was an antique photo with a date printed in blue pen on the back, creases at the corners, and moisture stains. At that point, I was blind to it.

The drawer was forty minutes away from our old house, in the bedroom my Uncle Ray had kept shut for six years, so no one saw it in the jail visiting area.

However, something unseen cracked when Matthew uttered those words. It was a door, not a question.

Teresa, my mother, stopped shaking. Her wrists were shackled in front of her, and her hair was pushed back just like it was when she wore mine for middle school.

She was dressed in the white uniform of a death row convict. She appeared smaller than I had remembered. thinner. older. It seemed as though six years behind bars had eaten away at her bones.

However, her eyes returned to their previous state as Matthew gestured to my uncle. The eyes of my mother.

— “Look at me, Matthew,” she pleaded in a broken voice, and my younger brother sobbed as he stared at her. —”Mom, I saw him.

However, he threatened to put Valerie in the pit if I spoke. He claimed that because I was a baby, no one would believe me.

I could feel my body losing blood. Valerie. Me. I felt guilty for six years since I didn’t know if my mother was innocent, but I never realised that I wasn’t the only one who remained silent.

From the age of two, Matthew had lived under constant fear. A child who harbours a murderous secret.

The warden of the prison spoke up. —”Everyone stays in this room.”

Uncle Ray made an effort to chuckle. It was a terrible, dry sound. —”Warden, please. When that occurred, the boy was two years old.

He’s merely reiterating what someone has implanted in his mind. Who would have done that?I enquired.

Ray gave me the same phoney pitying look that he had given me my entire life while Mom was imprisoned. —”Don’t make this more difficult, Valerie.

My mother gave him a disdainful glance. “Your mother has already accepted her fate.” —”I never agreed to anything.”

Ray held out his hands. For heaven’s sake, Teresa. I looked after your children. I covered the cost of solicitors. My sibling was buried by me. Are you going to accuse me now as well?Matthew cried out, “You killed Dad!””

Despite her chains, Mom did her best to block the guard’s path as he approached my younger brother. —”Avoid touching him.”

The farewell room had a metal table attached to the floor and cream-coloured walls. A pitcher of water, a box of tissues, and a Bible were all untouched.

The clock behind the glass continued to run toward the execution hour. It was a hungry animal every minute.

The public defender who had accompanied us, a tired guy named Escobedo, said, “Warden, this warrants a stay of execution.”

The warden said, “The order comes from the Governor.” “But I will not permit this woman to enter the chamber as long as there is a fresh statement from a minor witness and possible hidden evidence.”

Uncle Ray’s colour altered. The warden turned to face him and said, “You can’t do that.” —”Until I inform the judicial authorities, I may postpone for procedural safety. And you remain here.

Ray moved in the direction of the door. He was blocked by the two guards. I answered without thinking, “I have a right to a lawyer.” “And Teresa had a right to a fair trial.”

Everyone gave me a look. even my mother. My eyes were burning. It had been six years since I had stated that. I muttered things like “I don’t know,” “I don’t remember,” “Everything was so confusing,” and “Maybe my mom lost control” for six years.

How easily dread might pass for caution. When a seventeen-year-old girl’s heart is broken and the police tell her that blood doesn’t lie, how simple it is for her to believe what everyone says.

However, the blood had been deceitful. Or it was placed somewhere it wasn’t supposed to be. My mother gave me a painful and loving glance. —”Valerie…”

I was unable to maintain eye contact with her. Because we had to save her before we could offer her a hug, ask for forgiveness, or do anything else.

The warden gave the order to bring in a duty prosecutor, a social worker, and a recorder. Words like “suspension,” “new evidence,” “minor witness,” “possible coercion,” “chain of custody,” and “execution” started to fly around the room like mosquitoes.

My mother took a slow seat. Matthew refused to let go of her. I thought of all the times I had showered him, cooked his cereal, escorted him to elementary school, and told him Mom was “away” since I didn’t know how to explain that the State wanted to kill her as I watched his little hands gripping the white uniform.

All this time, he had known more than I had.

The warden leaned slightly and continued, “Matthew, I need you to tell me exactly what you remember.”

My younger brother turned to face my mother. —”Are they no longer going to murder you?Nobody responded. The worst cruelty was that. I couldn’t guarantee him that.

My mother gave him a forehead kiss. —”Be honest, my darling. Tell the truth regardless of what occurs.

Matthew let out a painful breath. —”I heard Dad yell that night, so I woke up. I down the steps. The light in the kitchen was on. Dad was lying on the ground. Beside him stood my Uncle Ray.

His clothes was covered in blood. My mother wasn’t present. Then he told me to go to my room when he spotted me. I sobbed. Then he went upstairs after grabbing the knife with a handkerchief.

I adored my dad, therefore I followed him. I watched him enter Mom’s room. He dropped to his knees and placed the knife beneath the bed.

—”Where was your mother?With a shaky voice, Escobedo enquired. —”Asleep. Or she appeared to be asleep. Something was placed on her robe by my uncle.

He then covered my lips when he spotted me. He warned me that my sister Valerie would vanish like Bruno the dog if I spoke.

I kept my mouth shut. Bruno. Our canine companion. Bruno had vanished a week prior to the murder. Perhaps he escaped when the gate was left open, according to my dad. For three days, I sobbed. To cheer me up, Uncle Ray brought me a plush animal.

I got it now. It was a practice. It posed a danger. It was a method of educating a child that disobedient people vanish.

Ray began to perspire. —”This is insane. Will you trust a youngster who has experienced trauma?After removing the plastic bag containing the key, Matthew placed it on the table. Dad informed me about the drawer. the evening before he passed away.

He was angry with my uncle, so he hid me in the closet. I didn’t comprehend. “Tell Valerie to look for the secret drawer if one day your mum is in real danger,” he continued, but I had no idea how to access it. I had dreams about the key until yesterday. My blue teddy bear has it.

I turned to face him. —”Your teddy bear?Matthew gave a nod. The one my father gave me. The rear zip was broken. There it was.

My legs started to buckle. The teddy bear in blue. I came close to discarding it three times. Since it was one of the few items Matthew refused to give up as a newborn, I kept it in a box.

That toy, which had a key concealed in its belly, had been in our bedroom closet for six years. There was an escape route left by my father. And we didn’t see it for six years.

Twenty minutes later, the duty prosecutor showed up. It was six o’clock at night. The execution was set to take place at 7:00 PM. A lifetime could be contained in a single minute. Matthew’s statement was taken. My Uncle Ray declined to speak and requested legal representation.

The warden placed calls. A lot of them. Silently at first. Then more loudly. Then angrily. —”If physical evidence has not yet been found, I will not carry out an execution,” he declared over the phone.

“Yes, I am aware of the time. I do comprehend the order, yes. I also recognise that the victim’s major beneficiary has just been identified by a kid.

beneficiary of money. I was struck by that phrase. My uncle had done more than simply maintain the house.

Since Matthew was a baby and I was a minor, he also kept the accounts, the truck, and my dad’s auto shop—everything he had purportedly “managed” for us. “Your mother ruined us,” he would often say. Just helping you is enough for me.

However, it was he who had destroyed us.

The call arrived at 6:37 p.m. The warden listened with his eyes closed. “Yes, Judge,” he said. It has remained.

My mother groaned. It wasn’t a cry. Her soul seemed to abruptly return to her body. Matthew gave her a closer hug. I was immobile. remained. Not for free. Not cleared. but still alive.

I didn’t think my mom would pass away tonight. I went across the room and knelt down in front of her. —”Mom…” I was at a loss for words. We had been apart for six years. Unanswered letters for six years. Short trips for six years. Glass, handcuffs, and humiliation for six years.

I said, “Forgive me.” My mother shut her eyes. She put her shackled hands to my face and said, “Oh, sweetheart,” “Forgive me for doubting.” —”I wasn’t that young.” —”You were a child.” —”They ruined your life.” Yours as well.

I sobbed as if I hadn’t even attended my father’s funeral. Because I was too preoccupied with trying to figure out whether my mother was a murderer, whether my family was lying, whether my brother would remember her, or whether I had to despise her in order to survive during the burial.

I was able to cry for the first time that afternoon because of what had actually occurred.

Both of us had been robbed. My father with a knife. One sentence from my mother. And us with a falsehood.

With Matthew’s key, the prosecutor, the attorney, and an urgent search order, two cop cars made their way to the residence. They refused to let me leave, even though I wanted to.

My mother told us things we were never allowed to hear during those hours. —”Your dad and Ray got into a fight that night,” she remarked. My head hurt, so I drank some tea that Ray had made.

It put me to sleep. Your dad was killed, there were shouts, police, and blood on my robe when I woke up. Ray informed me that you were with a neighbour when I enquired about you.

Then, in the patrol car, he whispered in my ear, “Your children will be left with no one if you open your mouth about the accounts.”

—”What accounts?I enquired. My mother gave me a dejected expression. —”Your father had found out that Ray was transferring money for dangerous individuals through the shop. Loans, fake parts, and fake invoices. I’m not an expert. All I know is that your dad discovered documents. He declared that afternoon that he would report him.

The picture. The dude in the picture. —”That evening, did Dad go report someone?Mom gave a nod. He said that he will be meeting with an internal affairs commander. He returned with a lot of anxiety. In the closet, he concealed something.

He said, “Don’t trust my brother if anything happens to me.” I advised him to stop saying things like that. We quarrelled. I became enraged. I fell asleep. And he was dead when I awoke.

I recalled an image I had buried back then. On the night of the murder, my father entered my room. I was half sleeping. “Take care of your mum, Val,” he added, kissing my forehead. I assumed it was just a standard statement. It wasn’t. It was a farewell.

The prosecutor came back at 9:20 p.m. His face was stern. He had an evidence box in his hands. Ray got to his feet. —”This is against the law. The prosecutor turned to face him and said, “That house is in my name.” —”We’ll investigate that as well.”

My heart was pounding. —”Have you located it?The box was set down on the table by the prosecutor. —”We discovered the hidden drawer. Documents, a USB drive, a notebook, and pictures were hidden behind the false bottom.

My mother’s breathing ceased. —”And the picture?The prosecutor pulled open a transparent bag. The picture was inside. Standing by a black SUV is a man wearing a white shirt, a cap, and a moustache.

My Uncle Ray was standing next to him. My dad seemed to be partially hidden behind them, as though he had taken the picture without the others noticing. In my father’s handwriting on the back, it read:

Ray and Commander Salazar. Evidence of delivery. It wasn’t Teresa if I end up dead.

I sensed the floor disappearing. My mother raised her hands to her lips. —”My God.”

The prosecutor went on: —” Videos from a shop camera are on the USB device. It depicts Mr. Ray getting money from this former Commander Salazar, who is being looked into for extortion and disappearances.

Additionally, there are audio files. It appears that one of them recorded a threat against your father, Mr. Ernest.

Ernest. My father. After being degraded to “the victim” for so many years, hearing his name from a prosecutor crushed my heart. —”What does the audio say?I enquired. The prosecutor paused. —”Hearing it is not advised for the minor.”

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Matthew hugged his mother. Mom shook her head and said, “I want to know.” —”No, my dear. You’ve shown enough courage.

A jail psychologist was brought to another room with Matthew. Mom assured him that she would be there when he returned and that she would not be going to the chamber. It had air for the first time in six years.

The prosecutor played the audio after Matthew departed. It sounded like my dad was upset. —”Ray, I already have copies. “I’m going to Internal Affairs tomorrow,” my uncle said. “Don’t be a fool.” I’m fooling with you, but you have no idea who you’re messing with.

“I fed you when the shop was sinking,” you said.There was a thump. —”You dragged my family into this.” Then a different, colder voice. —”Ernest, consider your kids. My father responded, “If something happens to me, Teresa knows.” Occasionally, mishaps do occur.

The recording ended. My mother shut her eyes. She muttered, “But I didn’t know where the papers were.” “Ernest didn’t want to tell me everything because he wanted to protect me.”

The audio was stored by the prosecutor. —”The case will be formally reopened with this proof and the minor’s statement.

Ray Mendoza had already been the subject of an arrest warrant for a number of offences, including first-degree murder, evidence tampering, threats, and obstruction of justice. Against Salazar and all those accountable as well.

Ray screamed and got to his feet. —”Lie! All of stuff was planted by Teresa! That woman had a constant desire to hold onto everything!I gave him a look. —”Uncle, my mother was one hour away from passing away. In a residence you had locked for six years, when did she plant a drive?”

He became quiet. The order was issued by the prosecutor. He was handcuffed by the guards. Seeing him like way was weird. Handcuffs were associated with my mother for many years.

He was always on the side of the mourning, and she was always on the side of the guilty. The metal switched wrists tonight.

As they escorted him out, Ray gave me a glance. He was no longer pretending to be fond of her. My mother got up and said, “You don’t know anything, Valerie.” “I know enough.”

“Your dad wasn’t a saint either.” —”Don’t you dare.” Ray gave a hateful smile. We were all going to be sunk by Ernest. “You killed him,” I answered. “I saved what I could.” “There are deaths that are necessary,” he said, glancing at me.

Nobody said anything. He had made a confession without making a confession. The door shut once the guards removed him.

We didn’t sleep on the first night there wasn’t an execution. My mother was put back in a cell, although she was no longer in the preparation room. They let us spend a few more minutes with her. Weary from crying, Matthew dozed off on my lap.

My little brother hadn’t simply saved Mom, I thought as I caressed his hair. He has prevented all of us from living on our knees in front of a falsehood.

The news was spread by daybreak. “The Teresa Mendoza case could be one of the state’s biggest judicial errors.” “The execution was stayed due to new evidence.” “The child points to uncle as the real killer.”

I had no desire for cameras. Microphones were not what I wanted. I didn’t want to hear reporters refer to my mother as if it were a television program. However, they were there, with lights, enquiries, and hunger, outside the prison. Escobedo stepped outside to talk.

Beside him, an unfamiliar woman emerged. She had wearing a badge from a group that protects the defenceless. Lucy Valdes was her name.

Three years prior, my mother had sent her a letter, but there was no evidence, so the matter never progressed. —She subsequently informed me, “Your mum never stopped writing.” I looked down and said, “She never stopped fighting, even when no one answered.” Nobody. include myself.

The days that followed were turbulent. They dug up papers. They examined the knife’s chain of custody. They found that Salazar’s close friend was the first police officer to enter the house. Before being moved, the knife was never captured on camera beneath the bed.

Instead of direct splatter, Mom’s bloodied robe contained transfer stains. Since no tests were requested, the sedative in the tea was never looked for. Although “domestic dispute” was listed in the file, the neighbour who reported hearing cries claimed to have heard a man’s voice.

Everything had been present. A more convenient narrative about a wife killing her husband crushes bits of truth. simpler. quicker. more beneficial.

An extraordinary hearing was approved a week later. My mother entered the courtroom wearing prison scrubs, but her gait was different.

She was still emaciated and in handcuffs, but her head was raised. Holding the blue teddy bear, Matthew sat beside me. There was no longer a key inside the bear. A prison nun had handed Mom a little wooden cross.

—”Will she be out today?He questioned me. Yes was what I wanted to say. However, I had learnt not to make promises that relied on men with files. —I said, “They start listening to her today.” — “They ought to have paid attention earlier.” — “Yes.” —“You too.” The statement stabbed me.

Matthew didn’t say it cruelly. Sometimes kids tell the truth without realising it hurts. —”Yes,” I answered. “Me too.”

The special prosecutor asked to re-examine the case and permanently remove the death sentence during the hearing.

Matthew’s statement, the forensic anomalies, the films, the audio, and the evidence from the secret drawer were all submitted by the defence. The judge spent many minutes going over the documents. He then turned to face my mother.

—”Mrs. Mendoza, the court acknowledges that there are enough reasons to think that your conviction might have been the result of serious omissions and falsified evidence.

Your transfer to a lower-security facility, the reopening of the case, and an indefinite stay of execution are all mandated while the motion to vacate is processed.

It wasn’t liberty. It wasn’t freedom, once more. However, it was no longer death. My mother shut her eyes. I grasped Matthew’s hand. “Is that good?” he enquired.—”Yes,” I sobbed. “That’s excellent.”

In the same black suit he had worn to “say goodbye” to Mom, Ray was seen in another room with his hair dishevelled and chained.

At first, he refused to look at us. However, he looked up when the prosecutor brought up the house.

—”A power of attorney purportedly signed by the accused during her incarceration transferred the property to Mr. Ray Mendoza. My mother laughed bitterly. “That power of attorney will also be investigated.” —”I didn’t sign anything.”

Not, of course. However, Ray claimed to have made sacrifices for us while selling furniture, renting the store, collecting bills, and giving us crumbs for six years.

Since I was eighteen, I had worked in a pharmacy to purchase shoes for Matthew while he maintained my dad’s car shop.

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The cameras were all around us when we exited the courthouse that afternoon. —”Valerie, did you think your mum was innocent?I was struck in the face by the question. I may have spoken a falsehood. I could have said that a daughter’s heart never wavered.

However, our story already contained far too many falsehoods. I glanced at the camera. —”Not always,” I replied. And I will suffer from that for the rest of my life. However, I will now do what I did not do when I was seventeen: I will stay with her until she is set free.

My hand was squeezed by Matthew. My younger brother was unable to go asleep that night in the makeshift shelter where Lucy’s group kept us. —”Is my mother upset with me for being late?He enquired. I took a seat on his bed. —”No, Matthew.

How could she be angry?He touched his chest and said, “I knew.” “You were very little.” “But I knew it here.” And my gut ached whenever I saw my uncle. I used to think that if I said anything at school, something bad would happen to you.

As I grew older, I began to wonder if I had dreamed. However, I recalled Dad’s comment on the drawer when I saw Mom wearing white yesterday.

My soul was broken by it. Matthew gave me a serious look and said, “Forgive me for not taking better care of you.” Mom had told me the same thing: “You were a kid too.” However, it seemed much more unjust when spoken by Matthew. I felt sixty years old at twenty-three.

When Mom gets out, do you think she’ll want to move in with us?He enquired. “More than anything in the world.” — “What if she no longer knows how to be a mother?

I had no idea how to respond. Because I was also afraid of that question. Prisons do more than just house inmates. It reeducates the soul to be suspicious of every open door, to wait for commands, and to ask permission. I answered, “Then the three of us will learn together.”

The new trial did not start right away. Nothing happened quickly. In order to release my mother, the justice system that had hurried to convict her used crutches.

Months went by. While attempting to escape, Salazar was apprehended on a property. They discovered firearms, cash, documents, and pictures of multiple missing people in his home.

One of them was a picture of my father going into an internal affairs office the night before he passed away. He had been turned in by the commander who was meant to keep him safe. The picture in the drawer was a blueprint of a betrayal, not just evidence.

Ray made an effort to bargain. He began by claiming that Salazar coerced him. My dad was also involved in unethical business. Then he “arranged” the scenario out of terror, and my mom actually killed him.

But he was trapped by the audios. “The kids stay with me if Teresa goes down,” Ray stated in one. the house as well.

My mother heard that audio at a hearing and said, “No one will check anything.” She refrained from crying.

All she did was bite her fists. “Your dad died knowing his brother was capable of anything, but he didn’t want to believe he was also capable of using his children,” she later told me.

Do you despise him?I enquired. —”Ray? Indeed. —”And me?My mother halted. We were in a visiting room with guards but no glass. —”How could you possibly believe that?She seized my hands and said, “Because I doubted.” —”Guilt is a prison, Valerie.

“But I left you alone.” —”No, don’t put yourself in one when I’m just trying to get out of mine.” You came to see me. I received pictures of Matthew from you.

I was informed about school by you. You were deceived, offended, and perplexed. You didn’t abandon me. When no one wanted to hear the truth, it abandoned me.

I hugged her and leaned in. I could smell her hair without the scent of metal, glass, or distance for the first time in six years. It had the fragrance of cheap jail soap. It smelt like home, though.

On a gloomy Tuesday, freedom arrived. No music was playing. No enormous portal with heavenly light opening. A judge read for forty-seven minutes.

He discussed inadequate forensics, coerced testimony from a minor, manufactured evidence, suppression of proof, due process violations, and the conviction’s nullity. There were just two words I needed to hear. “Immediate release,” he finally said to them.

Matthew leaped to his feet. —”Now?The judge peered at him through his spectacles. I briefly believed he was going to reprimand him. But all he responded was, “Yes, child.” Right now.

My mother did not relocate. As though she didn’t comprehend. As though she had forgotten the meaning of the word “freedom.” The guard came over to remove her handcuffs. She examined her bare wrists. She then turned to face me. Next, at Matthew.

She also broke. In front of everyone, she collapsed to her knees. —”Ernest,” she muttered. She told my dad, “It’s done,” without saying “I won” or “I’m free.” It was as though she had promised him for six years that she would not pass away before cleaning his record.

Matthew rushed over to her. I also did. While cameras flashed outside and attorneys gathered documents, the three of us sobbed as we embraced on the courthouse floor.

When justice finally arrived, it didn’t make a magnificent sound. It produced the sound of an unhandcuffed mother breathing.

It was more difficult to return home than to watch her emerge. as we were no longer the owners of the house. The prosecutor’s office obtained it as a reopened scene, but legally it was disputed.

Ray had removed my dad’s pictures, painted the kitchen a terrible colour, sold my mom’s wardrobe, altered the floors, and converted my room into a storage area.

However, my dad’s measurements of our height were still marked in pencil on the wall of the hallway. Ten years, Valerie. Valerie, twelve. One year, Matthew.

My mother ran her fingertips over the marks. Matthew gestured to the kitchen and said, “I thought I’d never see this again.” —”Did Dad pass away there?My mother shut her eyes. “”Yes.” —”Is it possible for us to plant there?We were disarmed by the question.

—”A plant?”I said.” —”Yes. Thus, it goes beyond the location of his death. Thus, it’s where stuff develops. My mother gave him a hug. —”Yes, my dear. A plant will be placed.

We were unable to move in immediately. We rented an apartment during that period. My mother experienced nightmares. When she heard keys, she would scream when she woke up. She couldn’t sleep with the door open, but she also couldn’t sleep with it closed.

Like a prisoner, she stored food in napkins. She requested permission to take a bath. She was sitting in front of a cold cup of coffee when I discovered her one day.

—”What’s wrong, mum?She remarked, “I don’t know what to do with the mornings.” —”How is that?Everything had its time in prison. awakening. eating. counting. resting. It’s a casual morning here. I sat with her since I didn’t want to waste it.

—”Let’s begin with something modest. similar to preparing eggs. —”What happens if I burn them?For the first time, she laughed. —”Then we eat bread.” A genuine chuckle, but not a huge one. She burnt the eggs that day. We had bread. It tasted liberating.

Matthew also underwent alteration. He stopped wetting the bed, but he became upset about everything. His bear would scream whenever someone touched him. A man would stand in front of Mom like a guard if he raised his voice close to her.

He claimed in therapy that his role was to keep the people he cared about from dying. He was eight years old. That is not a job for a child.

Mom knelt in front of him one afternoon following a crisis. —”Look at me, Matthew. You are not my guard, even though you saved me. My son is you. Matthew sobbed, “Your job is to ask for double ice cream, do your homework grudgingly, and get your shoes dirty.” —”What happens if my uncle returns?

My mother grabbed his face and said, “He’s not coming back, but I’m the man of the house.” —”No. The child of the house is you. And that is far more crucial.

As I listened from the door, I realised that freedom meant more than just getting Mom out of jail. It was helping Matthew overcome his fear. It was relieving me of my guilt. It was removing my dad from the file where they had left him as a husband killed by an envious wife.

A year later, Ray’s trial began. Even though my mother was no longer wearing the white uniform, her shoulders were still tight when she walked.

She obtained a job assisting in a school kitchen, chopped her hair, and began wearing brightly coloured shirts. She claimed that the sound of children squabbling over jelly reminded her that life was still going on.

At night, I studied law. It wasn’t something I planned. However, I wanted to learn how to read every word that has the power to save or destroy someone after witnessing how badly written paperwork nearly killed my mother. Ray attempted to smile at me the day I testified against him. —”Val, niece…” —”Don’t call me that.”

He was asked to keep quiet by the judge. I talked about the murder night, the years I was under my uncle’s guardianship, the money he managed, the veiled threats, and the times he attempted to talk me out of going to see Mom because ‘it simply reopened wounds’.

I told everything this time. Matthew then gave a videotaped testimony. My younger brother described everything he heard, saw and heard about the dog Bruno, the knife, the closet and the drawer.

The judge declared a break once he was done. He needed air, too. My mother was the last to testify. Ray refused to give her a glance. She gave him a look. She said, “You killed your brother.” “You buried me alive.” Matthew’s childhood was stolen by you. You made Valerie feel guilty.

You kept what belonged to Ernest’s children by using his last name. I’m not sure what penalty would be sufficient for that, but I do know that I don’t fear you.

For the first time, Ray raised his head. My mother leaned up to the microphone and said, “Teresa, I lost my brother too.” —”You didn’t lose him. You abandoned him in the kitchen, bleeding.

She stopped talking. She didn’t have to. The evidence was overwhelming. Ray was convicted. first-degree murder, financial theft, obstruction of justice, threats, and evidence fabrication.

Ray did not move while he listened. In a concurrent procedure, Salazar was given another sentence. A number of police personnel were looked into. A few fell.

Others simply retired early, as is frequently the case. I was upset at that section. Justice was never fully served. At least it was off my mother’s body now, though.