Joyce's hand stayed raised.
The judge waited for her to speak.
I could hear someone shifting in a chair behind me.
Then Joyce took a breath.
"Your Honor, the woman who came to my window was the one sitting in the front row."
My stomach tightened.
For one second, I thought she meant my husband's mother.
Joyce's finger moved slightly.
She was pointing toward the blonde woman beside her.
The woman in lavender.
The woman who had kept her face turned away from me all morning.
The judge looked at the woman.
"Ma'am, would you please stand?"
She didn't move at first.
Her fingers closed around the handle of her handbag.
Then she rose slowly.
My husband's mother turned toward her.
I watched the older woman's expression change, but I couldn't tell whether she was surprised, angry, or afraid.
The blonde woman removed her sunglasses.
She looked at Joyce.
Joyce looked straight back at her.
"That's the woman," Joyce said.
My husband's lawyer stood.
"Your Honor, I would ask that we establish precisely what this witness is claiming before drawing any conclusions."
The judge nodded.
"That is what we're doing."
The blonde woman remained standing.
She looked younger than I had first thought, perhaps because she was no longer hiding behind the dark lenses.
I searched my memory for some place I might have seen her.
A grocery store.
The hospital parking lot.
A photograph on my husband's phone.
Nothing came to me.
She was a stranger.
At least, she was a stranger to me.
My husband had stopped moving.
He looked at the woman, then at his mother, then toward his lawyer.
I saw him shake his head once.
It was a small movement.
I couldn't tell whether he was denying something or simply trying to understand what was happening.
The judge asked Joyce to explain how she recognized the woman.
Joyce described the four visits to First Federal.
She explained that the woman had presented identification bearing my name.
She also explained that the woman's appearance had not matched the photograph as closely as it should have.
"Did you see this woman on each of the four occasions?" the judge asked.
"Yes, Your Honor."
"And are you certain the woman standing here is the same person?"
Joyce hesitated only long enough to collect herself.
"Yes."
The blonde woman lowered her eyes.
I felt a strange pressure in my chest.
For months, I had imagined someone finally seeing the truth.
I had pictured myself explaining everything while my husband sat quietly and listened.
I had not imagined a courtroom full of people watching a woman I had never met stand beside my mother-in-law.
My lawyer asked Joyce about the ring.
Joyce repeated the description.
An emerald.
Two small diamonds.
A gold band.
The woman had told her it belonged to her grandmother.
I looked down at my own hands.
I remembered the little compartment in my jewelry box.
I remembered opening it and seeing the empty space.
I remembered searching the same drawer three times because I couldn't accept that the ring was gone.
The judge turned to the woman.
"Do you know Mrs. Brooks?"
She swallowed.
"I don't know her personally."
That answer unsettled me more than I expected.
She hadn't said she had never seen me.
She had said she didn't know me personally.
My husband's lawyer asked whether she had made any withdrawals at First Federal under my name.
The woman looked toward him.
"I'd rather not answer that without speaking to someone."
The lawyer's expression hardened.
"Someone meaning whom?"
"My attorney."
There was a pause.
The judge instructed her to remain available while the court determined how to proceed.
My husband finally spoke.
"Who is she?"
His voice was not loud, but everyone near him heard it.
His mother turned sharply.
"Please don't make a scene."
He stared at her.
"I'm asking who she is."
She pressed her lips together.
The judge interrupted before the exchange could continue.
"Mr. Brooks, you will have an opportunity to address questions through the proper process."
My husband leaned back.
For the first time that morning, he looked as if he had lost control of the room.
I should have felt happy.
Instead, I felt cold.
I still didn't know who the woman was.
I didn't know how she had obtained my license.
I didn't know how she had gotten my grandmother's ring.
And I didn't know whether my husband had been involved.
But Joyce had identified the person who made the withdrawals.
That was more than we had known when the hearing began.
My lawyer asked for a short recess so the testimony could be reviewed and the next steps discussed.
The judge agreed.
People began standing and gathering their papers.
My husband remained seated for a moment.
Then he turned toward his mother.
She leaned close to him and whispered something I couldn't hear.
He pulled away.
The movement was quick enough that I almost missed it.
His mother stood and adjusted the front of her navy suit.
As she passed my table, she looked at me.
There was no sympathy in her face.
There was no apology.
Only irritation.
I followed my lawyer into the hallway.
The water fountain stood near a row of wooden benches.
I sat down and placed my hands on my knees.
I was shaking.
My lawyer crouched slightly beside me.
"Are you all right?"
"I don't know."
"That's understandable."
He told me that Joyce's identification was important, but we still needed to establish the facts.
I understood.
A witness could be mistaken.
A person could deny what had happened.
A courtroom could turn one clear memory into a dozen difficult questions.
Still, I felt something I hadn't felt in months.
Possibility.
Then my mother-in-law appeared beside the water fountain.
She stopped directly in front of me.
"You should have been more appreciative of what my son offered you."
I looked up at her.
She glanced toward the courtroom doors.
"He could have found someone else years ago."
For a moment, I didn't understand what she was trying to tell me.
Then I did.
She was still talking about the settlement.
Even after Joyce had identified the woman who made the withdrawals, she wanted me to believe I was the problem.
I stood.
"I didn't take the money."
Her mouth tightened.
"You never know when to stop, do you?"
I waited for her to say something else.
She didn't.
She turned away and walked back toward the courtroom.
I watched her go.
For years, I had tried to earn her approval.
I had brought food to family gatherings, remembered birthdays, and listened to stories about how difficult her son had been as a child.
I had thought that if I showed enough patience, she might eventually see me as part of the family.
Now I understood that being accepted had never been the same as being respected.
My lawyer touched my shoulder.
"We should go back in."
I nodded.
Before we returned, I glanced through the open courtroom doors.
The blonde woman was standing near the front row, speaking quietly to someone I couldn't see.
Her left hand was tucked into the pocket of her coat.
I remembered Joyce's description of the ring.
I remembered the empty jewelry box.
And I wondered how long the woman had been carrying a piece of my life around with her.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: My Husband Asked His Mother for an Answer, but She Kept Looking Toward the Woman Nobody Had Expected to See
The Money Was Gone, but My Husband Had Already Decided Who Would Be Blamed
Part 5 of 24
