Page 76 of The Surrogate Mother
“He absolutely has.” I suppress the urge to pound my fist on the table. “And he got me a great lawyer. He’s going to help me fix this terrible mistake.”
“Well,” my mother says. “I hope you’re right.”
32
“Fifteen years would be a gift, Abby.”
The words of my attorney, Robert Frisch, echo in my ears. The walls of his office feel like they’re closing in on me. Obama’s smile in the photo is mocking me. This can’t be happening. Fifteen years. No. No way.
“I didn’t do it,” I say for what feels like the millionth time.
Frisch sighs. He so clearly doesn’t believe me. I know he’s one of the best criminal attorneys in the city, but right now, I’d trade him for a newbie lawyer who at least believed my story. But nobody believes me. Sam doesn’t. Frisch doesn’t. Even Shelley, my best friend, isn’t returning my calls.
And Monica… well, she’s the only one who knows the truth.
She killed Denise and planned to pin the murder on me—the final nail on my coffin. It wasn’t enough that she got me fired for the drugs she planted in my urine. It wasn’t enough my husband texts with her morning and night.None of that was good enough for her. She wants me behind bars, where there’s no chance I can take back what’s mine.
“I think you should take the plea,” Sam says. “This is your best chance.”
“I’m not spending the rest of my life in jail for something I didn’t do!”
“It’s not the rest of your life.”
Is he kidding me? “It’s fifteen years!”
I’m thirty-seven now. In fifteen years, I’ll be fifty-two. Any chance of becoming a mother will be gone forever at that point. My career will be gone. And my marriage…
Sam is staring straight ahead at Frisch’s desk, refusing to look at me. If I go to jail, it’s over between us. Some people make marriage work behind bars but we won’t—he thinks I’m some kind of monster. If I take this plea bargain, he’ll end up moving in with Monica. Maybe not right away, but eventually. The two of them will raise their son together. Happily ever after ending for both of them.
Maybe I should let them have their happily ever after. Sam stuck with me through all the infertility, even knowing it was all my fault. He’s a good guy. He deserves to be happy.
But not with Monica.
Forget everything she’s done to me, even though that’s pretty damn hard to do. If I care about Sam at all, I can’t let him get involved with Monica. She’s a psychopath. She’s amurderer. The second he burns her toast, she’ll probably stab him in the chest.
“Think about it, Abby,” Frisch says to me. “This option won’t be around forever. The police have a really solid case against you.”
My head is spinning as I sit in Sam’s car, riding back to our apartment. He has to go to work now, but I’m home for the day since I’m home every day now. He waits until we’rehalfway back before he says, “I think you should take the plea.”
“Yes, I know what you think.”
“Frisch knows what he’s talking about.”
I stare out the window, at the storefronts whizzing by. I’ll miss this if I go to jail. If that happens, all I’d see around me are bars and the prison courtyard and guards and…
Oh great, now I’m crying.
“Abby.” His voice softens. “Don’t cry.”
Nope. Still crying. I don’t think I can stop.
It’s funny because I’m not a crier. I never cry. Maybe once a year, I have one big epic cry just to get all my frustration out of my system, then I’m good for the next three-hundred-and-sixty-four days. I hate the loss of control I feel when I’m sobbing. But lately, I feel like a leaky faucet. All I do anymore is cry.
Sam probably thinks it’s from the meth. And maybe it is.
“Listen,” he says gently, “if you want to go to trial, then… let’s do it. Okay?”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “If I went to jail, you’d move in with Monica.”
