Chapter 5 - The Arraignment
The courtroom in the county courthouse was packed to capacity. Word had spread that the trial—or at least the preliminary hearings—would reveal the full extent of what happened behind closed doors in the Hawthorne household.
When the bailiff called the court to order, I was sitting in the front row, wearing my best dark wool blazer, my posture rigid and composed. Behind me, rows of townspeople sat in absolute silence. Old farmers who brought their sick cattle to my clinic, local mothers I had helped through pet emergencies, and even a few of Dennis’s former colleagues from the volunteer fire department sat with grim, disapproving expressions.
The side door opened, and Dennis and Serena were led in by deputies. They were wearing standard orange jumpsuits, their wrists and ankles chained. Dennis looked smaller than he had in my kitchen; the tailored clothes and cocky grin were gone, replaced by gray skin and desperate, darting eyes. He scanned the courtroom until he found me in the front row.
For a fraction of a second, his expression shifted into something pleading—a pathetic attempt to invoke our nine years of marriage. I stared right back at him with absolute indifference, my face a mask of cold stone. He quickly looked away, swallowing hard.
Judge Miller—no relation to the deputy—settled behind the mahogany bench and adjusted his glasses. "We are here for the arraignment of State versus Dennis Hawthorne and Serena Hayes. Reading of the charges has been waived by counsel. How do the defendants plead?"
Dennis’s attorney, Arthur Vance, stood up smoothly. "Your Honor, my client pleads not guilty to all charges. We maintain that the incident was an unfortunate domestic accident exacerbated by high stress—"
"Save the speech for trial, Mr. Vance," Judge Miller interrupted dryly, tapping his pen. "The court has reviewed the preliminary evidence, including the emergency room medical reports and the high-definition video footage recovered from the residence."
At the mention of the video footage, a murmur rippled through the courtroom. Arthur Vance swallowed visibly, clearly realizing how weak his accident defense actually was.
"Furthermore," the judge continued, "given the severity of the charges—felony child abuse resulting in great bodily harm, witness tampering, and accessory—bail for Dennis Hawthorne is denied. Bail for Serena Hayes is set at one hundred thousand dollars, cash only."
Serena gasped, clutching her defense attorney’s arm. "One hundred thousand? I don't have that kind of money!"
"Then you'll be awaiting trial in the county jail alongside Mr. Hawthorne," the judge replied without missing a beat. "Court is adjourned."
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As the deputies hauled them back through the side doors, Dennis cast one final, hateful look in my direction. I didn't blink. The man I had shared a bed with for nine years was a stranger—a coward who preyed on a seven-year-old child to save his own skin.
As I walked out of the courthouse into the bright Nebraska sunlight, a crowd of local reporters stood by the steps with microphones. I ignored them, walking straight to my truck. I had a little girl waiting for me at home, and chocolate pudding to buy.
