My cheek was pressed against a rough wooden bench when I heard my husband tell me to stop fighting.

The jury deliberated for exactly forty-two minutes.

When the buzzer sounded indicating a verdict had been reached, the gallery was so silent you could hear the tick of the wall clock above the judge’s bench.

Diane Collins sat bound to a transport wheelchair, wearing a restraint belt around her torso and a spit hood over her head after her outburst in the holding cells. Ethan sat beside his lawyer, his head bowed, shaking with silent terror.

"Will the defendants please rise," Judge Mercer instructed.

Ethan stood on trembling legs, clutching the defense table for support. Diane could only glare through the mesh fabric of the spit hood, her breathing heavy and ragged.

"In the matter of State of Oregon versus Ethan Collins," the foreperson read, a tall, serious-looking man with silver hair. "On count one, Aggravated Domestic Battery on a Pregnant Person: Guilty."

Ethan let out a low, whimpering groan and dropped his head onto his chest.

"On count two, False Imprisonment: Guilty."

"On count three, Criminal Conspiracy to Commit Murder: Guilty."

"On count four, Wire Fraud and Forgery: Guilty."

A soft, collective exhale swept through the gallery. Natalie grabbed my hand, weeping silently with tears of pure relief.

"In the matter of State versus Diane Collins," the foreperson continued, his voice ringing with absolute finality. "On count one, Aggravated Battery as an Accomplice: Guilty. Count two, False Imprisonment: Guilty. Count three, Criminal Conspiracy to Commit Murder: Guilty. Count four, Tampering with a Witness: Guilty."

Judge Mercer nodded slowly. She looked down at the defendants with an expression of cold, unyielding judgment.

"Ethan Collins, you are a coward," Judge Mercer said, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. "You took vows before God and the law to protect the woman carrying your child. Instead, you acted as an enforcer for your mother’s murderous greed. You are remanded to the state penitentiary to serve a mandatory minimum of twenty-five years without the possibility of parole."

Ethan collapsed back into his chair, sobbing into his hands.

"Diane Collins," the judge continued, turning toward the hooded figure. "Your manipulation and depravity have shattered lives and horrified this community. You will serve life in prison without the possibility of parole."

Through the mesh hood, Diane let out a muffled, choked scream of impotent rage.

Judge Mercer then turned her gaze toward me. Her expression softened into something profound and maternal.

"Mara Vance-Miller, the court also grants your petition for the permanent, irrevocable termination of Ethan Collins’s parental rights. Furthermore, under the civil restitution orders attached to this judgment, all remaining assets of the Collins family estate, including the proceeds from the liquidation of the Oakridge property, are awarded to a protected trust established exclusively for the benefit of June Vance-Miller."

The judge slammed her gavel down one final time.

"Court is adjourned."

The bailiffs moved in instantly. Ethan was hauled to his feet. As they turned him toward the holding cells, he looked at me one last time through his tears.

"Mara," he mouthed silently, begging. "Please."

I looked at him, then deliberately turned my back to him, facing the open courtroom doors where the sunlight streamed through the tall glass transom.

He was gone. His mother was gone. Their name, their cruelty, their poison—all swept away into the dark corners of the state prison system where they could never, ever touch us again.

Natalie threw her arms around me, laughing through her tears. "It’s over, Mara. It’s completely over."

I placed my hands on my belly, feeling the wild, energetic thrum of new life within me.