A race against time

The shrill ring of my phone sliced through the quiet hum of the house, a sound that rarely meant good news these days. I saw the courthouse number flash on the screen. My stomach twisted even before I answered. The clerk's voice was polite, but her message was anything but.

"Ms. Smith, we're calling to inform you that Mr. Thompson's sentencing hearing has been moved up," she stated, her tone efficient. "It will now be in three days, on Friday. We apologize for the short notice."

Three days. That meant the hearing would be the day after my entirely unnecessary visit with him. A wave of dread washed over me but quickly morphed into a steely resolve. This was it.

My first call, naturally, was to Aditi, the wonderful owner of my favorite Indian restaurant. She answered on the first ring, her warm voice a welcome balm.

"Aditi, it's Deppgrl," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Deppgrl! How are you?" she asked, her concern immediate.

"I'm okay. Listen, I have some news. The sentencing hearing for my ex-husband has been moved up. It's in three days. I know it's incredibly short notice, but I was hoping you'd still be able to stand by me, as you suggested."

A brief pause, then her voice was firm and reassuring. "Of course, my dear. I will be there. My husband will be in charge of the restaurant. Do not worry about a thing."

"Thank you, Aditi. Thank you so much," I replied, feeling a knot in my chest loosen slightly.

"You will see, Deppgrl. I have a plan," she said, a hint of mystery in her tone. "It will unfold. Just focus on yourself."

My next call was to my brother. "Hey, Bob, it's me."

"Deppgrl! What's up? Everything okay?" His voice was instantly laced with concern, picking up on my underlying tension.

"The courthouse just called. His sentencing is in three days. Friday."

A sharp intake of breath on his end. "Three days? I'll call Mom and Dad right now. They'll want to be there, no doubt."

"Thanks, Bob. I appreciate it," I said, my voice weary. "Just... be ready for it."

"Hang in there, sis. We're with you, every step," he assured me before hanging up.

Then I called Kay. "Hey, Kay, it's Deppgrl."

"Deppgrl! Oh, hey, how are you doing?" Kay's cheerful voice was a momentary bright spot.

"I've been better. The sentencing hearing got moved up. It's on Friday."

"Friday? How are doing?” she asked, her tone shifting to concern. “I didn’t get any notification of it yet.”

"I'm dealing with it. Just wanted to let you know. I know you're busy, so no pressure to be there."

"Are you kidding? I'll absolutely be there," Kay said, her voice firm. "Let me adjust my schedule. You won't be alone, not for a second."

"Thank you, Kay," I said. "That means a lot."

My last call was to Sheila. "Sheila, hi. It's Deppgrl."

"Deppgrl! How are you doing? I've been thinking about you."

"I'm hanging there. The reason I'm calling is the sentencing hearing has been moved up. It's Friday."

"Friday? Dan and I will be there. Bright and early. Don't you worry about a thing, we'll be right by your side," she said, her usual calm demeanor a comfort that resonated even over the phone.

"Thank you, Sheila. It means a lot, more than I can say," I replied, a genuine warmth spreading through me despite the circumstances.

For the next two and a half days, a frantic energy took hold of me. I became a cleaning machine scrubbing my house. The anxiety fueled me, and I blared music—loud enough to drown out my own thoughts. Eating was an afterthought; the very idea of food turned my stomach. I just kept cleaning, needing the physical exertion to keep the anxiety at bay, to create order in a world that felt increasingly chaotic.

On the evening of the second full day, two and a half days into my cleaning marathon, a persistent knocking echoed through the house, but the music was too loud. I didn't hear it. Then, the blare of the radio suddenly ceased. Silence. My head snapped up, disoriented and startled by the abrupt quiet.

Darnell stood in my living room, my spare key dangling from his hand. He surveyed the chaos of cleaning supplies, the spotless but utterly disheveled state of the room, and then his gaze settled on my face.

"Deppgrl, that's enough," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "It's time to stop cleaning. It's time to eat. You look like you're about to collapse."

"No, I’m not hungry," I tried to protest, my throat tight, raspy from disuse. "There's still so much to do."

He walked over, a bottle of my favorite sports electrolyte beverage already open, condensation clinging to the sides. "You're going to drink this. Now." He pressed it into my hand.

I hesitated, then took a sip, then another. I drank three of the electrolyte beverages. The sweet, tangy liquid was surprisingly refreshing, coating my dry throat.

"Better?" he asked, watching me intently.

I nodded, feeling a flicker of actual hunger for the first time in days, a rumbling in my empty stomach. "Yeah, actually. Thanks. That hit the spot." My eyes scanned the open cabinets. "I found some granola bars in here. Want one? They're probably stale, but it's something."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Thanks, but no. We're going out. You're getting pizza. Proper food."

"Pizza?" The thought, shockingly, actually sounded appealing, a real meal.

"Pizza," he confirmed with a determined nod. "Now, go take a shower. You look like you wrestled a dust bunny and lost spectacularly."

I managed a weak laugh. The idea of washing away the past few days' grime and tension was suddenly very appealing. I showered, pulled on comfortable clothes, and within twenty minutes, we were out the door and in his car.

At the restaurant, the moment we walked in, I saw them. My brother, my parents, Kay, Sheila, Pastor Dan, and even Vince. They were all there, gathered around in a quiet corner, their faces lighting up as they saw me. A chorus of hellos and sighs of relief met us. One by one, they came over, enveloping me in warm, reassuring hugs. My brother held me tight, my parents squeezed me, their eyes full of unspoken worry and love. Kay gave me a knowing, comforting embrace, whispering, "You look exhausted, but you made it." Sheila and Pastor Dan offered gentle pats and kind words, their presence a quiet strength. Vince was the last. He pulled me into a quiet, tender hug, his lips brushing my ear.

"It's good to see you," he whispered, his voice low and sincere, the recent tension between us momentarily forgotten in the warmth of the reunion. "I’ve missed you."

"I know," I murmured back, leaning into his strength for a moment longer than I intended.

We settled around a table in a more private room. The conversation flowed easily, full of laughter and gentle teasing, a much-needed reprieve from the tension that had gripped me. "So, Darnell, you managed to get her out of the house finally?" my dad joked, earning a playful glare from me. "She was on a mission," Darnell grinned. We ate, and ate some more, the warmth of the food and the company slowly beginning to mend the frayed edges of my spirit. For the first time in days, I felt like myself again, truly present, surrounded by the people who truly loved and supported me, ready to face whatever Friday would bring.

Darnell drove me home after dinner, the backseat of his car laden with enough leftover pizza to last me a year. We made jokes about being prepared for anything.

On Thursday, the day before the sentencing, Darnell and my brother came over to help me put my house back in order from my cleaning frenzy. They worked tirelessly, organizing cleaning supplies, and generally restoring a sense of calm to the chaotic tidiness. "Seriously, what was all this?" Bob asked, holding up a sparkling but bewildered-looking toilet brush.

"Stress cleaning," I mumbled, though I was grateful for their help. They made sure I was hydrated, continuously refilling my water bottle, and insisted I take breaks to eat the remaining pizza. "You need your strength for tomorrow," Darnell reminded me gently.

My brother left around sunset, heading home to his own family, promising to see me in the morning. As for Darnell, he stayed until after 10 PM, meticulously putting away the last of the mops.

"Darnell," I finally said, leaning against the doorframe, "if you don't get home soon, not only is your girlfriend going to worry, but your mother will be calling the station and then me. She is one lady I do not want to mess with when she’s worried.”

He let out loud laugh. "You're right!" He practically jumped up, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door. "See you bright and early, Deppgrl. Get some rest."

I eventually made it to bed, but rest proved elusive. Despite the physical exhaustion, my mind raced. I tossed and turned, replaying conversations, anticipating tomorrow. I slept so poorly that the bags under my eyes had bags.

Friday morning dawned grey and ominous. I dragged myself out of bed, every muscle aching from the cleaning spree and the restless night. I showered, letting the hot water soothe my tense shoulders. I dressed carefully, choosing an outfit that felt strong and resilient. After brushing my teeth, I applied only minimal makeup, enough to look presentable, but not enough to hide the exhaustion that still clung to me. This wasn't a day for pretense; it was a day for truth.

 

The courthouse in the city buzzed with a tense energy. My stomach churned, but the sight of my support system filled me with a quiet strength. Bob, my parents, Kay, Sheila, Pastor Dan, Darnell, and even Vince were all there, a formidable wall of solidarity.

Just as the proceedings were about to begin, the doors to the courtroom opened, and in walked Aditi, not alone. Behind her, in a surprising show of support, were the owners of other restaurants I frequented often, my neighbors, and a few of my staff. They filled the gallery seats, a quiet, powerful presence I hadn't anticipated. It was Aditi's "plan" unfolding, a wave of community standing with me. On Xavier's side, my ex-husband, only his parents occupied the spectator benches, two figures huddled together, looking small and isolated.

The judge, a very serious man with a stern gaze that missed nothing, did not tread lightly. He presided over the final arguments with an air of grim determination. When it came time for sentencing, his voice, though calm, resonated with absolute finality. He handed Xavier Thompson a 30 to 45-year sentence for the attempted murder of a law enforcement officer, a citizen, and the rape of three underage women. Three of the mothers of his children were younger than the age of consent at the time of their relationship. The judge made it explicitly clear that should my ex-husband live long enough to see a release date, he would be required to register as a pedophile and a sex offender.

A collective, quiet gasp went through the room, quickly followed by a ripple of hushed relief from my side. My ex-husband's parents gasped, one of them letting out a small sob. The gavel struck, a sound that echoed like a final period at the end of a long, nightmare. It was finally over.

I couldn’t breathe and I needed air. I ran outside to get fresh air. As I was gasping for breath, I heard Vince say my name and then everything went black.