When we returned to the courtroom, the blonde woman was seated again.
Her sunglasses were off.
She kept her handbag on her lap and stared at the floor.
My husband was standing beside his lawyer.
His mother sat behind him, her back straight and her hands folded.
Nobody looked comfortable anymore.
The judge resumed the hearing by asking the lawyers to address Joyce's testimony.
My husband's lawyer said he needed time to examine the witness's account.
My lawyer agreed that the details should be reviewed, but he asked the judge to preserve the testimony and allow the case to proceed on the evidence available.
The judge made clear that the identification could not simply be ignored.
Then he asked Joyce another question.
"Did the woman tell you anything about her relationship to Mrs. Brooks?"
"No, Your Honor."
"Did she explain why she was withdrawing the funds?"
"No."
Joyce kept her answers short.
She didn't pretend to know things she hadn't witnessed.
That made me trust her more.
My lawyer asked whether the woman had appeared nervous during the transactions.
Joyce considered the question.
"She seemed prepared. She knew what she wanted to do."
"Did anything else stand out?"
"The ring."
Joyce repeated that she had remembered the jewelry because she had admired it.
The judge looked toward the blonde woman.
"Is there anything you wish to say at this time?"
She lifted her head.
"I didn't come here to testify."
"That wasn't my question."
She looked toward her lawyer's empty chair.
Then she said she wanted legal advice before answering further questions.
The judge allowed her to consult counsel, but instructed that the court would address the issue again.
My husband sat down heavily.
I had never seen him look so uncertain.
During our marriage, he always seemed to know which version of a conversation would benefit him.
If I questioned a purchase, he called me controlling.
If I asked where money had gone, he told me I was worrying too much.
If I objected to the way his mother spoke to me, he said I was being sensitive.
He had an answer for everything.
Now he had a stranger sitting several feet away, and he couldn't explain why she was there.
I wanted to ask him whether he recognized her.
I wanted to ask whether he had ever seen my ring on her hand.
But I held my tongue.
I had spent too much time trying to get answers from someone who treated questions as an attack.
The judge called for another short recess.
My husband turned toward his mother before anyone else moved.
"What is going on?"
She shook her head.
"Not here."
"Then where?"
"Keep your voice down."
He stared at her.
"You know something."
She looked away.
I couldn't hear the rest of their conversation, but I saw his face change.
His jaw tightened.
He pointed toward the woman in lavender.
His mother caught his wrist and lowered his hand.
It was a small gesture, but I noticed it.
She was trying to stop him from drawing attention.
The woman in lavender remained seated.
She didn't look at either of them.
My lawyer asked me to come into the hallway again.
He wanted to review the sequence of events while they were fresh in my mind.
I told him about the missing ring.
I explained that my husband had said I probably lost it at work.
I repeated his mother's comment about nurses removing their jewelry.
My lawyer wrote everything down.
He asked whether either of them had access to the room where I kept the ring.
"Yes," I said. "They had both been in our home."
"Did you ever see your husband wearing or holding the ring?"
"No."
"Did you see him give it to anyone?"
"No."
He nodded.
"We need to keep the distinction clear between what you know and what you suspect."
I understood why.
I didn't want to become like the people who had accused me without proof.
I knew the ring was missing.
I knew Joyce had described it.
I knew the woman identified in court had made the withdrawals.
Those facts mattered.
The rest had to be established.
When we returned, the blonde woman had moved closer to the aisle.
She was speaking quietly to a man who had entered during the recess.
I assumed he was her lawyer.
He listened while she spoke, then looked toward Joyce.
He did not approach me.
My husband's lawyer began asking Joyce questions about the bank's procedures.
He wanted to know how identification had been checked and whether the transactions had been processed according to the rules.
Joyce answered as best she could.
She admitted that the bank had accepted the identification at the time.
She also explained why the woman's appearance had stayed with her.
The lawyer asked whether Joyce could have confused the woman with someone else.
"No."
"Could your memory have changed over the months since your retirement?"
"I remember those visits."
"Even though you didn't report a problem at the time?"
Joyce looked at him.
"I didn't understand the full problem then."
She paused.
"But I understand what I saw."
The lawyer tried another question.
Joyce remained steady.
She did not exaggerate.
She did not accuse my husband.
She did not claim to know who had arranged the transactions.
She only repeated what she knew.
The judge eventually directed the lawyers to arrange for the relevant records and testimony to be reviewed properly.
The court would not decide the disputed withdrawals simply because the slips carried my name.
I felt my shoulders lower a little.
It wasn't a final victory.
But the judge was no longer treating the documents as the whole story.
My husband leaned toward his lawyer.
The lawyer whispered something back.
My mother-in-law watched the blonde woman.
The blonde woman watched the floor.
I looked at my own hands.
They were still trembling.
For months, I had believed that the hardest part would be convincing a judge.
I hadn't understood that the truth might also expose things people close to me had been trying to keep hidden.
When the judge paused the proceedings again, my husband came toward me.
He stopped a few feet away.
"Angela, we need to talk."
I looked at him.
"About what?"
He glanced at the people around us.
"Not here."
I almost laughed.
He had accused me in front of lawyers and a judge.
He had watched his lawyer present my name as proof of wrongdoing.
Now, when the story was no longer going his way, he wanted privacy.
I stood and gathered my folder.
"If you have something to say, you can say it through the lawyers."
His face tightened.
"You're making this difficult."
"No," I said. "I'm trying to find out what happened."
He stared at me as if he had never heard me speak that way before.
Then his mother called his name.
He turned toward her.
I walked away with my lawyer.
For the first time in our marriage, I didn't look back to see whether my husband was following.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Emerald Ring Had Left My Jewelry Box, but the Questions It Raised Were Finally Being Taken Seriously
The Money Was Gone, but My Husband Had Already Decided Who Would Be Blamed
Part 6 of 24
