Free Nothing to Lose by Alex Flinn Page B

impossible to me. And this article says Walker was planning to leave her. As if.
    I say, “Know what the problem is with being a trophy wife?”
    Angela smiles. “I can think of several.”
    “The problem is you get the kind of man who wants a trophy wife.” I gesture at the article. “I want to tell them this is bullshit! They’ve got it all wrong. She wasn’t the bad guy in this. He was. He beat her. He terrorized us … her. And even days he didn’t, even when he was in a great mood, there was always the threat of it, always. We never knew if he’d come home with roses or a shotgun or what.”
    I remember my mother that day on the balcony, afraid to step onto the sand for fear of missing Walker’s call, because of what he’d do if she wasn’t there, waiting. Now I think if I’d only gotten her down onto the beach, I could have gotten her to leave him. But I didn’t. I’d failed. She was trapped like a minnow in a tidepool, and I never did anything to get her out.
    Until now. I glance at the ocean again.
    Angela’s voice interrupts me. “And do you think that will help?”
    “I don’t know. You’re the lawyer. Don’t they cut you a break if you kill someone before they kill you? Self-defense or something like that?”
    “If it is self-defense. But it’s hard to claim self-defense if you knock someone on the head from behind.”
    “She didn’t…”
    “The fatal blow was struck from the rear. You didn’t know that? That’s the big problem everyone’s having with her self-defense claim.”
    I look away, picturing it. “He was a monster. Killing him was a public service. No one should be in jail for it.”
    “See, that’s exactly the kind of thing you don’t say to lawyers. Your mother killed a man, Michael. She freely admits she did it. Her options are limited. There’s only so much you can accomplish. You need to decide whether it’s worth putting yourself on the line.”
    “She doesn’t belong in jail.”
    “You may be right. And this guy sounds like a total slime. But—”
    “I am right. I can’t handle… I mean, I was out of there. I’d escaped. But I can’t go on like nothing happened. I can’t stand that she’s in jail for this. She doesn’t belong there. She’s not like people think she is. She’s just … weak.”
    For the first time, Angela’s face changes. She stands like she’s going to walk toward me, but she doesn’t.
    “I understand,” she says.
    “You couldn’t possibly.”
    “Okay. That’s fair. But I sympathize. It must be hard, living with that.”
    “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about her. What’s going to happen?”
    Angela sits back down. “There will be a trial. You know that. Your mother’s confession means the state doesn’t have to prove she did it. At first she tried to claim self-defense, but with a blow from behind … so her attorneys are defending her based on battered-spouse syndrome instead. That’s saving that his abuse of her was so severe, that she felt so trapped, like the only way out was to kill him before he killed her.”
    “Exactly,” I say.
    “Exactly. But people—and juries—are suspicious of battered-spouse syndrome. We don’t want to believe a man can trap a woman like that. We all believe we would be able to leave if we were in that situation.”
    “Do you believe that?”
    Angela doesn’t answer, and I say, “People don’t know what it’s like. I could tell them what he did to her. I’m not the one on trial, so I could tell them.”
    Angela nods. “But there are risks, Michael. You talk about escaping—that possibility would be gone. They would put you in a foster home.”
    “I know it.”
    “The other thing is, after you told your side of the story, they’d get to ask you questions. And sometimes they can make the story look very different, even if you’re telling the truth.”
    “What would they ask me?”
    Angela doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then she stands and walks toward