I Woke Up at the Altar and Said No to the Mob Heir Who Let Me Die, but He Remembers Too novel · Chapter 36 of 40

Chapter 36: Statement

Cormac found me still standing in the hall with the letter.

He read it over my shoulder.

"You don't have to," he said.

"I know."

"He'll be looking at you the whole time. He'll smile."

"I know what he does with his face."

He put his arms around me from behind, careful, and rested his chin on my head.

"Then I'll be in the second row," he said. "Where you can see me."

I wrote it at the cutting table in the back room, at night, for two weeks.

I wrote it nine times.

The first eight were too long. They said everything.

The ninth fit on one side of a page.

On the seventeenth of April, we drove to Boston in the van at six in the morning.

Una kept Nessa at her shop.

Nessa had packed her own bag for Dorchester: the rabbit, the blue sewing box and a list of questions for the radiator.

The federal courthouse was on the harbor, all glass and brick, with the water right outside the windows.

The courtroom was full.

Reporters in the back. Lawyers in front.

And the family, in the pews on the left, the way they always sat at St. Columba's.

Aunts. Cousins. The uncle with the bakery box, without the box.

Philomena sat at the end of the second row, alone, in her plain wool coat.

She nodded at me once when I came in.

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