My Mom Removed My Bedroom Door So Her New Boyfriend Could “Monitor” Me. She Said I Was Making Up Lies About Him. Then I Found My Father’s Secret Journal Hidden In The Attic.
Facing the Monster
I wore my nicest dress, the blue one dad bought me for my birthday 2 years ago. My hands shook as I swore to tell the truth. Brandon sat at the defense table in an orange jumpsuit looking smaller than I remembered.
He tried to catch my eye but I stared straight ahead. I told them everything about the threats, the touching, the night at the hotel. The judge had to call a recess when I talked about finding dad’s journal because I started crying too hard to continue.
Dad wasn’t allowed in the courtroom since he might be called as a witness later, but Uncle Henry was there. He gave me a thumbs up from the gallery reminding me I was brave, that I could do this. Brandon’s lawyer tried to make me look like a confused kid, asking if maybe I’d misunderstood Brandon’s intentions.
I stayed calm and repeated what happened exactly as it happened. The prosecutor showed the recording from Ashley’s phone and Brandon’s face went gray. His lawyer asked for a plea deal that afternoon.
25 to life instead of life without parole. The prosecutor said:
“No way.”
After the hearing reporters tried to talk to us outside the courthouse. Dad shielded me with his body as we pushed through them to Uncle Henry’s truck. They shouted questions about forgiveness, about moving forward, about how it felt to see Brandon in chains.
We didn’t answer. There was nothing to say that would make them understand. This wasn’t entertainment. It was our life.
Mom started sending me letters, long rambling apologies about how she failed as a mother, how she should have seen the signs. I read the first few then started throwing them away unopened. Dad said I should consider forgiving her eventually for my own peace not hers, but I wasn’t ready.
Maybe I’d never be ready. She’d chosen a monster over her own family. Some things are unforgivable.
Brandon’s actual trial was brutal. They brought in his other victim’s families showing pattern after pattern of his behavior. One woman from Arizona testified about how he dated her after her husband died in a suspicious accident.
She’d gotten bad vibes and dumped him, probably saved her own life. Another family from Nevada talked about their son who was serving time for a murder that sounded exactly like Dad’s case. The prosecutor said they were reopening that case too.
Dad testified on day three. He wore his only suit, the one from their wedding that he’d kept for some reason. He talked about finding the body, about trying to help, about the confusion when they arrested him.
He talked about prison, about missing my birthday, about writing letters I’d never get to read. His voice broke when he talked about the day I was born, how he promised to always protect me and felt like he’d failed. Brandon took the stand on day five against his lawyer’s advice.
He tried to paint himself as a victim of circumstance, said the man in the bathroom had attacked him first. But under cross-examination his story fell apart. He contradicted himself, got angry, showed his true face to the jury.
When the prosecutor asked about his plans for me and mom he refused to answer. His own lawyer looked defeated. The jury deliberated for two hours.
Guilty on all counts. Murder, conspiracy, fraud, attempted assault on a minor. The list went on. The judge sentenced him to life without parole.
Consecutive sentences for each crime. Brandon didn’t react, just stared at the table. As they let him out he looked at me one last time. I stared back wanting him to see that he hadn’t broken me, that I’d won.
