My Husband Tried To Pull The Plug On My Life For $2m. He Didn’t Realize I Could Hear Him Whispering His Plan. Now I’m Awake, And I’m Coming For Everything.
The Day of Judgment
The day of the trial arrived with a gray, oppressive atmosphere, as if the Chicago sky felt the heavy weight on my chest. The Cook County courthouse stood imposing with its massive pillars, swarmed by a sea of people. Since Brenda’s slander video went viral, my case was no longer just a domestic criminal matter; it had morphed into a public circus, a spectacle where morality was being debated in the court of public opinion.
I sat in the back of Dr. Evans’s car, wringing my ice-cold hands. Outside, dozens of reporters with cameras at the ready had gathered like ants on sugar. Camera flashes went off like lightning strikes before my feet even touched the pavement.
“Ready, El?” Michael asked, looking back at me through the rearview mirror. His calm eyes provided a small anchor in the storm.
“Ready or not, I have to face it, Michael.”
“For Lily, for myself,” I replied, trying to convince myself more than him.
The moment the car door opened, chaos erupted. Microphones were aggressively shoved in my face, nearly hitting my nose.
“Dr. Henderson, what’s your response to the cheating allegations from your mother-in-law?”
“Is it true the audio recording was an AI fake?”
“Dr. Evans, what is your actual relationship with the defendant’s wife?”
The questions were like poisoned arrows fired relentlessly. I kept my head down, hiding behind dark sunglasses, while Michael and our two lawyers, Mr. Burhan and his team, painstakingly carved a path through the crowd.
Inside the courtroom, the air was thick and stuffy, a mixture of cheap perfume, sweat, and old paper. The room was packed. On the front right side, I saw the opposition. Brenda sat there with her chin held high, dressed in all white with a long headscarf, a stage costume perfectly designed to elicit sympathy from the court. Her face was powdered with light makeup to make her look pale and sorrowful, as if she were the real victim here.
And there, in the defendant’s chair, sat Rick. He wore a conspicuous orange prison jumpsuit with the number 085 on his chest. His hair, usually styled neatly with expensive pomade, was messy, and he had dark circles under his eyes. Yet when our eyes met, I saw no remorse. I saw a flash of suppressed rage, an arrogance that hadn’t been extinguished. He gave me a sharp look, then a thin, crooked smile—a smile that sent a terrifying message: You think you can win against me?
“All rise. The court is now in session.” The bailiff’s voice cut through the tension. Three raps of the judge’s gavel marked the beginning of the battle.
The Defense’s Lies
The prosecuting attorney, a tough middle-aged woman named Miss Wallace, read the indictment in a loud, clear voice. She detailed the chronology of the attempted murder with specifics that made my skin crawl: the push down the stairs, the neglect while I was in a coma, the attempt to remove my ventilator.
But the real drama began when Rick’s defense team took the floor. His lawyer was a Mr. Davies, a portly man with a booming voice and a reputation for doing anything to win, including twisting the facts.
“Your Honor,” Mr. Davies’s voice echoed off the courtroom walls as he paced confidently. “My client, Mr. Rick Henderson, is the victim of a malicious scheme. His wife, the star witness Eleanor Henderson, has a history of severe stress due to the pressures of her job as a neurosurgeon. This inhuman workload led to depression, hallucinations, and self-harming tendencies.”
I clenched my fists in my lap. Lies, my mind screamed.
“The incident on the stairs,” Mr. Davies continued, pointing dramatically at Rick, “was a failed suicide attempt by Miss Henderson. My client tried to stop her but was too late. And as for the ventilator, that was an act of love from a husband who couldn’t bear to see his wife suffer as a vegetable. But his good intentions were twisted to cover up the witness’s affair with her colleague.”
His finger shifted to point at Michael, who was sitting in the gallery. A loud murmur rippled through the spectators. A few of Brenda’s supporters whispered loudly, sneering at me.
“Shameless woman!” Someone behind me hissed.
Then it was my turn to take the witness stand. My heart pounded as if it would leap out of my chest. I swore my oath on the Bible, my hand trembling violently.
Mr. Davies immediately attacked me like a shark smelling blood.
“Miss Henderson,” he asked in a condescending tone. “Is it true you often came home late at night?”
“Yes, that’s a demand of my profession as a doctor,” I answered firmly, trying to keep my voice steady.
“And is it true you were often alone with Dr. Evans in the resident’s lounge?”
“That’s a public space in the hospital. We were discussing patients.”
“Discussing patients or planning something else?” Mr. Davies cut in. “Be honest, Dr. Henderson. You felt your unemployed husband, Mr. Henderson, was no longer on your level, didn’t you? You were ashamed of having an unemployed husband, so you sought comfort in the arms of a more successful man and then looked for a way to get rid of your husband without the mess of a divorce and splitting your assets.”
“Objection, Your Honor!” Miss Wallace shouted. “Counsel’s questions are speculative and are badgering the witness.”
“I’m merely exploring motive, Your Honor,” Davies countered with a sly grin.
I took a deep breath, looking straight at the judge. “Your Honor, I was never ashamed of a husband who was struggling. I was ashamed of having a husband who stole his own daughter’s college fund to gamble and then tried to murder his wife when he was caught.”
Davies laughed mockingly. “Gambling? Where’s the proof? That’s just a baseless accusation.”
