Chapter 7 - The Depositions
The weeks leading up to the court date were a blur of legal paperwork, conference calls with David, and maintaining a calm, stable environment for Hallie. She had picked up painting again, filling sketchbooks with bright watercolors and vibrant landscapes that reflected the renewed peace in our home.
Then came the day of depositions.
We sat in a sterile, fluorescent-lit conference room on the third floor of the county courthouse. Peter walked in accompanied by his high-priced defense attorney, looking smaller and grayer than I had seen him in years. He wouldn't look me in the eye when he took his seat across the table.
Brooke wasn't permitted to sit in the deposition room, but she was waiting outside in the hallway.
David laid out our evidence with surgical precision. He presented the time-stamped photograph from Mrs. Bennett, the exact text log of Hallie’s desperate plea to stop, and Peter’s own recorded phone admissions where he casually admitted he hadn't even been there when the incident started.
When it was Peter’s turn to speak under oath, his defense crumbled completely.
"Mr. Davis," David Vance said smoothly, leaning forward across the table. "Did you verify whether your other two children had ever been forced to stand outside on a freezing porch covered in tinsel and ornaments as part of this 'game'?"
Peter swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Well... no. Not that specific game."
"In fact, isn't it true that this 'game' was invented spontaneously by your current wife specifically to single out Hallie while she was wearing a sweater Brooke had previously criticized for being unflattering?"
"Objection," Peter's attorney muttered half-heartedly.
"Overruled," the court reporter droned monotonously.
Peter looked down at his hands, his voice dropping to a miserable whisper. "Brooke... Brooke just wanted everyone to have fun. She didn't mean any real harm."
"Mr. Davis," David said, his voice dropping all pretense of warmth. "Your daughter begged to stop. A neighbor witnessed her in distress. You were informed, and you dismissed it as dramatics without checking on her. And when her mother came to rescue her, your wife physically blocked her and berated her in front of the children."
Peter closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as the reality of his inaction finally crashed down on him.
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"I just wanted everyone to get along," Peter muttered, sounding less like an angry ex-husband and more like a broken man who had realized too late that he had traded his integrity for a fragile illusion of domestic peace.
By the time the deposition concluded two hours later, Peter’s attorney looked exhausted, and Peter looked like he had aged five years.
