Episode Fifteen:Witness
919 Words
I had barely ended the call with our lawyer when Jace walked into the room, towel slung around his shoulders, hair still damp from the shower.
He looked at me once, then paused mid-step.
“What happened?”
I hesitated, then told him.
“They’re calling me to the stand.”
His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came.
“And someone from your past,” I added.
He sat slowly on the edge of the bed. “Who?”
“She didn’t say. Only that he’s trying to build a pattern.”
Jace rubbed his hands over his face.
“He wants to paint me as unstable,” he said. “Emotional. Desperate.”
“You’re not.”
“He knows that. But truth isn’t what he’s interested in. It’s perception.”
I sat next to him. “Then we show them what’s real.”
The next few days passed in quiet tension.
Every hour brought new prep from the legal team—documents, timelines, witness coaching. I was pulled into two calls, one with a litigation strategist who explained how my testimony could either strengthen or complicate the case.
“You need to be calm, precise,” she said. “Don’t let emotion override your clarity.”
Easy for her to say.
I was about to sit on a stand and talk about the man I loved in front of strangers, a judge, lawyers—and the man who had tried to ruin him.
Jace withdrew a little as the date drew closer.
Not distant. Not cold.
Just... internal.
He painted with music louder than usual. Slept less. Drank his coffee in silence.
I didn’t push.
I knew he needed space to wrestle what was coming.
But that didn’t stop the ache of not being able to reach him the way I had before.
Three days before the trial, I came home from a late meeting with the legal team and found Jace sitting on the floor of our bedroom, surrounded by old sketchbooks.
He looked up as I entered, eyes glassy.
“I was looking for something,” he said.
I knelt beside him.
“What?”
“My first drawing of him.”
Lucas.
He held up a page.
It was rough, faded, the lines harsh—half-profile, a smirk twisted across the face. Charcoal smudged the edges like smoke.
“I drew this the night I realized he scared me,” Jace said.
He didn’t tear it.
He didn’t burn it.
He slid it into a folder and handed it to me.
“I want it submitted as evidence.”
I nodded.
And I kissed his temple.
On the day of testimony, the courtroom felt colder.
Sterile.
Jace wore black again. A color he’d once said made him feel invisible. Now, it felt like armor.
I wore navy. My hands didn’t stop shaking until I saw him reach across the table and squeeze my knee once, under the table, before letting go.
They called him first.
Jace walked to the stand with measured steps.
He took the oath with a steady voice.
And then the questions began.
Our lawyer started gently. “Mr. Ward, can you describe the nature of your relationship with Mr. Avery?”
Jace exhaled. “We dated. Briefly. It started when I was nineteen.”
“And how old was Mr. Avery?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Can you explain how that relationship progressed?”
Jace spoke slowly. Truthfully. He didn’t exaggerate. He didn’t dramatize.
He described the charm, the manipulation, the control. The gaslighting. The first time Lucas isolated him from a gallery event. The night he woke up unsure if anything had happened—and Lucas told him it had, with a smile.
He spoke of silence. Shame. And survival.
The courtroom didn’t move.
When our lawyer finished, she turned to the judge.
“No further questions at this time.”
Then Lucas’s attorney stood.
“Mr. Ward,” the man began, “how many romantic relationships have you had?”
“Several.”
“Would you describe any of them as stable?”
Jace’s jaw tightened. “Not in the past.”
The man nodded. “So your history is—unstable?”
“My past is,” Jace said. “Not my character.”
A few people in the gallery murmured.
The attorney continued, “Would you say you’ve ever exaggerated your experiences for artistic effect?”
“No.”
“You’ve never used trauma to elevate your work?”
“I’ve used truth.”
The lawyer walked closer. “And is it true that you and Mr. Avery were... intimate, even after you claim he harmed you?”
Jace froze.
Then said, “Yes.”
A pause.
“I was trying to get back what I lost. I thought if I had control, it would stop hurting.”
“And you had no memory of one night?”
“Yes.”
“But isn’t it possible,” the lawyer said, “that you consented, and only regretted it after?”
Jace met his eyes.
“No. Regret feels different than betrayal.”
When he stepped down, the courtroom was still silent.
And then they called me.
I took the stand.
Swore in.
Looked across the courtroom—
And met Lucas’s eyes for the first time.
He smiled.
Like he already knew what I was going to say.
Like he thought he still had control.
He didn’t.
I opened my mouth.
And I told the truth.
- Writer
