Chapter 6
Depositions started in January.
The weather was cold and gray.
My mood matched it.
I went first.
The defense lawyer—a man named Arthur Price, hired by my parents—tried to break me.
He asked about my "history of instability."
He asked about my "drinking problem."
He asked why I had "manufactured" the assault story to "extort" my family.
I answered every question calmly.
Honestly.
I told him about the Thanksgiving dinner.
The question.
The knee.
The blood.
The phone being ripped from my hand.
My father staring straight ahead.
He tried to twist my words.
Tried to make me sound like the aggressor.
Jessica objected every time.
Firmly.
Professionally.
After three hours, Price looked frustrated.
He couldn't rattle me.
Because I was telling the truth.
And the truth has a weight to it that lies can never match.
My mother went next.
I wasn't in the room for her deposition.
Jessica didn't want me there.
Said it would be too emotional.
But she sent me the transcript later.
I read it that night.
And I understood, finally, exactly who my mother was.
Price asked her about the house transfer.
"Mrs. Whitman, why did you and your husband decide to transfer the family home to your son, Travis?"
My mother's answer: "Travis is our son. He needed a place to start his family. Claire is... well, Claire has always been very independent. She doesn't need our help. She's never needed our help."
"Did you discuss this decision with your daughter, Claire?"
A pause.
Then: "We didn't think it was necessary. Claire would have only made a fuss. She's always been very dramatic about things."
"Mrs. Whitman, what happened on Thanksgiving night?"
Another pause.
"Claire came over for dinner. She'd been drinking. She started asking about the house, and she became very aggressive. She stood up and started yelling. She tripped over a chair and fell. She hit her face on the coffee table. It was an accident."
"Did your son, Travis, hit her?"
"Of course not. Travis would never do something like that. Claire made the whole thing up to get attention. She's always been like this. Always needing to be the center of attention."
"Mrs. Whitman, there are medical records showing that Claire's nose was broken. The doctor said it was consistent with being struck by a blunt object, not a fall."
My mother's answer made my blood run cold.
"Claire has always been clumsy. And she was drunk. She probably hit herself on something else after we helped her up. Or maybe she did it to herself later to make the story more convincing."
I closed the transcript.
I felt numb.
This was the woman who had given birth to me.
Who had held me when I was a baby.
Who I had called "Mom" for thirty-two years.
And she was willing to say anything.
Do anything.
To protect her son.
To protect the lie.
Even if it meant destroying me.
Travis went next.
His deposition was a masterclass in arrogance.
"Mr. Whitman, did you strike your sister, Claire, on Thanksgiving night?"
"Absolutely not. Claire is a liar. She's always been a liar. She's just mad that Mom and Dad gave me the house instead of her. She thinks she's entitled to everything."
"Mr. Whitman, the police report says that Claire called 911. Your mother took the phone from her. Is that true?"
"Mom didn't take the phone. Claire dropped it. She was drunk. She could barely stand up."
"Mr. Whitman, there are text messages between you and your mother, sent before the house was transferred, where you wrote that Claire would 'fall in line like she always does' and that if she didn't, you would 'say she's unstable.' What did you mean by that?"
A long pause.
Then: "I don't remember writing that. And even if I did, it was just... sibling stuff. Claire and I have always fought. It doesn't mean anything."
"Mr. Whitman, a mutual friend of yours and Claire's has given a statement saying that you told him, and I quote, 'if she doesn't drop the lawsuit, I'm going to make sure she regrets it.' Did you say that?"
"No. Jason is lying. He's always had a thing for Claire. He'll say anything to get in her good graces."
My father's deposition was the shortest.
And the most devastating.
"Mr. Whitman, what happened on Thanksgiving night?"
A long pause.
Then my father's voice, flat and emotionless: "I was watching the football game. I didn't see anything."
"You didn't see your daughter fall? Or get hit?"
"I was watching the game."
"Mr. Whitman, did you hear your wife say that Claire was being dramatic?"
"I don't remember."
"Mr. Whitman, did you ever promise your daughter that the family home would stay in the family, implying that she would have a share in it?"
Another long pause.
"I might have said something like that. But it was just... talk. You know how things are. You say things to your kids. You don't always mean them literally."
"You don't always mean them literally."
That was my father's defense.
Thirty-two years of promises.
Thousands of dollars I'd spent on their house.
All of it.
Just "talk."
I closed the transcript and leaned back.
Maya knocked on the door.
"Hey. You okay?"
I looked at her.
At the concern in her eyes.
At the way she'd shown up for me, even after I'd abandoned her for three years.
And I thought about my mother calling me dramatic.
My father saying promises were just talk.
Travis calling me a liar.
"I'm better than okay," I said. "I'm free."
Maya smiled.
She came in and sat beside me.
"The depositions are going well," she said. "Jessica says the defense looks weak. They're contradicting each other. Mom says Claire was drunk and tripped. Dad says he didn't see anything. Travis says Claire dropped the phone. Mom says she didn't take it. It's a mess."
"Good," I said. "Let them hang themselves with their own lies."
The criminal case moved forward.
The district attorney filed misdemeanor assault charges against Travis.
He pleaded not guilty.
Of course he did.
The trial date was set for March.
The civil trial would follow in June.
I had a long road ahead of me.
But for the first time in my life, I wasn't walking it alone.
I had Maya.
Lisa.
Jessica.
Aunt Margaret.
Officer Marquez.
People who believed me.
People who cared about me.
People who saw me.
And that was more than my family had ever given me.
I stood up and walked to the window.
The rain had stopped.
A faint rainbow arched over the city.
May you like
I smiled.
For the first time in a long time, it felt like the sun was finally coming out.
