Chapter 8: The Bail Hearing
I didn't sleep.
Torres arranged for a victim's advocate named Denise to stay at the house through the night.
Denise was quiet and practical.
She made coffee and sat in the kitchen and didn't try to fill the silence with reassurance.
I was grateful for that.
At 6 a.m.
I woke Noah and told him we were going to my sister's house for a few days.
He didn't argue.
He packed his backpack himself — clothes, his library book, the small stuffed dog he still kept on his shelf but pretended not to care about.
My sister Janna met us at the door before I could knock.
She had been awake.
She pulled Noah into a hug and held him for a long time, and he let her.
Inside, while Noah ate toast at Janna's kitchen table, she stood next to me at the counter and kept her voice low.
"How bad is the wrist?"
"Bruised.
Not broken."
"Emily." She looked at me directly.
"How long?"
"Since before Noah was born."
She closed her eyes for a moment.
When she opened them, they were wet.
"I should have seen it," she said.
"He was careful," I said.
"That's the part that's hard to explain to people.
He was very careful about what he let anyone see."
She nodded.
She didn't argue with me, and I loved her for it.
At nine that morning, Marsh called.
"The bail hearing just finished," she said.
My hand tightened on the phone.
"And?"
"The judge reviewed the arrest report, the recording, and the text message sent after his arrest.
Bail was set at seventy-five thousand dollars.
There is a no-contact order in place — he cannot contact you, Noah, or approach within five hundred feet of your home or Janna's address."
"He gave them Janna's address?"
"We provided it as a protected location.
Standard procedure." A pause.
"He doesn't have access to it, Emily.
It's a restriction on him, not a disclosure to him."
I breathed out.
"Can he make bail?"
"His brother was at the courthouse.
Whether Marcus posts it is a different question." Marsh paused.
"I spoke with Marcus this morning.
He gave a full statement.
Everything he witnessed over the past two years.
He didn't hold anything back."
I thought of Marcus at my kitchen table at three in the morning, his face in his hands.
"Okay," I said.
"There's one more thing," Marsh said.
"Ryan's attorney contacted my office this morning.
He's proposing a plea — Ryan pleads to a reduced charge, no jail time, anger management classes, supervised visitation."
The kitchen was quiet.
Noah was telling Janna something about his library book.
I could hear his voice but not the words.
"What do you recommend?" I asked.
"I recommend you speak with your own attorney before you respond to anything," Marsh said.
"But I will tell you this — the recording Noah made is strong enough to take to trial.
His attorney knows that.
This offer is not coming from a position of strength."
"He thinks I'll take it because I'm tired," I said.
"Probably," Marsh said.
"Are you?"
I watched Noah through the kitchen doorway.
He was showing Janna a page in his book, pointing at something, explaining it with both hands.
May you like
"No," I said.
"I'm not."
