71

Sierra's POV

The days after the jail visit were the hardest.

I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lyle's face pressed against the glass. His soft voice. *You gave me purpose.* It made my skin crawl.

Louis stayed close. He worked from home. He held me at night when I woke up shaking. He didn't say much. He didn't have to.

Katie knew something was wrong. She climbed into our bed every morning at dawn. She'd snuggle between us and whisper, "Is the bad man gone forever?"

"Yes, baby," I'd say. "Forever."

But was he? Gone forever? The trial hadn't even started yet.

The prosecutor called a lot. He had questions. He wanted me to testify. The thought made me want to throw up.

"He'll be in the room," I told Louis one night. We were in bed, Katie asleep in her own room for the first time in weeks. "Lyle. He'll be right there. Looking at me."

Louis was quiet for a minute. Then he said, "Then I'll be right there too. Looking at him. Making sure he knows he lost."

I rolled over to face him. In the dim light, his eyes were steady. Sure.

"You really think that'll help?"

"I know it won't be easy," he said. "But hiding from him gives him power. Facing him takes it back."

He was right. I knew he was right. But knowing and doing are two different things.

The next week, we met with the prosecutor in his office. Big windows. Lots of files. A man named Mr. Hart who looked tired but smart.

"He's pleading insanity," Mr. Hart said. "His lawyers are going to say he's not responsible. That he needs help, not prison."

"What do you think?" Louis asked.

"I think he knew exactly what he was doing. The planning. The hiding. The way he avoided cameras. That's not crazy. That's smart." Mr. Hart looked at me. "But a jury might feel sorry for him. The sad boy from the lake house. The lonely man who just wanted to be loved."

I felt sick. "They'll feel sorry for him?"

"Some might. That's why your testimony is so important. You're not just a victim. You're a mother. A wife. You're real to them. When you tell them how it felt—the singing in Katie's room, the picture in the garden, the chloroform—they'll see him for what he is."

I nodded. I could do that. I had to.

The night before the trial, I couldn't eat. I pushed food around my plate. Louis watched me, worried.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

"Yes I do."

"Why?"

I put my fork down. "Because if I don't, he wins. He gets to be the poor, sad man and I'm just the rich wife he bothered. I need them to see. I need everyone to see."

Louis reached across the table and took my hand. "Then we make them see. Together."

The courthouse was huge and grey. Reporters were everywhere. Cameras flashed. People shouted our names. Louis held my hand tight as we walked inside.

The courtroom was wood and leather and old books smell. Lyle was already there, sitting at a table with two lawyers. He was wearing a nice suit. He looked... normal. Clean. His hair was combed.

When he saw me, he smiled. A small, private smile. Like we shared a secret.

I looked away. I looked at Louis. I looked at the judge, a woman with grey hair and sharp glasses. I looked anywhere but at him.

They called witnesses first. Police officers. The security guys. A lady who talked about the pictures from the cellar. They showed the jury the wall of photos. My face. Katie's face. Louis's face. All those eyes watching.

Some people in the jury looked away. One woman wiped her eyes.

Then it was my turn.

Walking to the witness stand felt like walking through water. Slow. Heavy. I sat down and looked at the prosecutor. Not at Lyle. Never at Lyle.

"Mrs. Crowe, can you tell us when you first became aware that someone was watching your family?"

I talked. I told them about the singing. About Katie's monitor. About the picture in the garden. About the text messages. About the cellar. About the night he came with chloroform.

My voice shook sometimes. I stopped to drink water. But I kept going.

When I got to the part about Katie's room, about the singing in the dark, I looked at the jury. Really looked at them.

"My daughter was seven years old," I said. "She had nightmares for months. She still sleeps with a nightlight. She asks if the bad man can see her through the window."

The woman on the jury who wiped her eyes earlier was crying now.

Then Lyle's lawyer got up. A man with a smooth voice and expensive shoes.

"Mrs. Crowe, isn't it true that my client never actually harmed you or your daughter?"

"He broke into my house."

"To look. Not to hurt. Isn't that right?"

"He had chloroform."

"Which he never used. He never touched you. Never threatened you directly, did he?"

I gripped the sides of the chair. "He sent pictures of my child with a frowny face drawn on them. He sang lullabies to her in the dark. He told me he loved me from inside a jail cell. That's threat enough."

The lawyer smiled a little. Like he'd caught me. "So you admit he never actually threatened you. You just felt threatened."

Objections. Arguments. Words flying over my head. I just sat there, gripping the wood.

When they finally let me go, I walked back to Louis. He stood up and hugged me right there in front of everyone. I didn't care who saw.

The trial went on for three more days. More witnesses. More words. Lyle's lawyers painted him as a sad, lonely man whose mother abandoned him. Who never had a chance. Who just wanted to be loved.

Louis testified too. He was calm and cold and angry all at once. He talked about finding the cellar. About fighting Lyle in our bedroom. About the look in his eyes when he said he loved me.

"He doesn't love her," Louis said, looking right at Lyle for the first time. "He loves owning her. There's a difference."

The jury was out for two days. Two whole days of waiting. Pacing. Holding Katie extra tight.

Then the call came. Verdict reached.

We went back to the courthouse. The room was full. Lyle was at his table, looking calm. Too calm.

The judge asked the jury foreman to stand.

"On the charge of stalking, we find the defendant guilty."

"On the charge of attempted kidnapping, we find the defendant guilty."

"On the charge of home invasion, we find the defendant guilty."

Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Each word hit me like a wave.

Lyle's face didn't change. He just looked at me. And nodded. Like he was proud of me. Like I'd passed some test.

The judge sentenced him to twenty-five years to life.

Twenty-five years. Minimum.

As they led him away, he turned back one more time. He looked right at me. And he smiled. That same private smile.

Then he was gone.

Outside the courthouse, reporters mobbed us. Louis put his arm around me and answered questions. I just stood there, numb.

In the car, driving home, I finally cried. Louis pulled over and held me while I sobbed into his chest.

"It's over," he kept saying. "It's finally over."

That night, we had dinner. Just us and Katie. Pizza and a movie. Normal things. Katie laughed at the funny parts. She didn't know why we were both crying a little during the sad parts.

After she went to bed, Louis and I sat on the couch. The house was quiet. Really quiet. No fear hiding in the corners.

"What now?" I asked.

"Now we live," he said. "Really live. No more looking over our shoulders."

"Is that possible?"

He pulled me closer. "We're going to try."

We sat there for a long time, watching the dark window. Waiting for a ghost that wasn't coming.

The next morning, I woke up to sun on my face. Louis was still asleep, his arm around me. Katie's footsteps pounded down the hall.

"Mommy! Daddy! It's snowing!"

We went to the window. Fat white flakes were falling. The garden was covered. Everything looked clean and new.

Louis put his arm around me. Katie pressed her face to the glass.

"Can we build a snowman?" she begged.

"Absolutely," Louis said.

We bundled up and went outside. Katie ran around catching snow on her tongue. Louis and I rolled snowballs, our hands freezing, our breath making clouds.

For the first time in forever, we weren't performing. We weren't pretending. We were just... us. A family in the snow.

Katie's snowman was lopsided and cute. She used rocks for eyes and a stick for a nose. She named him Mr. Snow.

As we stood back to admire it, Louis took my cold hand in his.

"I meant what I said," he told me quietly. "We live now. Really live. No more ghosts."

I looked at our daughter, laughing in the snow. At my husband, holding my hand. At our house, warm and waiting.

"No more ghosts," I agreed.

The snow kept falling, covering everything. The old fears. The bad memories. The cellar full of pictures.

Spring would come. The snow would melt. But right now, in this moment, everything was white and clean and new.

And we were finally, truly, home.