Dr. Leishman
The courtroom hummed with quiet tension as Dr. Kristen Leishman, the psychiatrist who had evaluated me, took the stand. She wasn’t the typical courtroom expert, poised and sophisticated. There was an everywoman quality about her that had drawn me to her since we’d first met.
I drew in a breath—slow, deliberate. The kind that felt like pulling air into a hollow space I hadn’t realized was empty. My spine straightened, my fists easing from their tight clench. The knot of fear gripping my stomach didn’t vanish, but it loosened enough for me to find my voice.
Dressed in black slacks and a floral blouse, she looked more like an eccentric aunt than someone who faced the darkest corners of the human psyche for a living.
Her sharp eyes scanned the room before settling on Colton, who stood ready to guide her through the most delicate testimony of the trial—and the most dangerous.
The jurors were leaning in slightly, seemingly captivated by her testimony.
Colton cleared his throat quietly. “What does that mean, exactly, Doctor?”
She paused, letting her words settle with the audience.
“When faced with intimacy, their body often reacts instinctively—pulling away, shutting down, or feeling intense fear or revulsion. It’s a survival mechanism, a way of protecting themselves from a perceived threat, even if that threat no longer exists.
” Another pause. “It’s not rational. It’s instinctive. ”
Colton nodded, encouraging her to continue. “And how does this relate to Olivia Taylor? You’ve examined her. What were your findings?”
Dr. Leishman sighed softly, shifting her eyes to me.
The same kindness rested in them as before.
“Olivia Taylor exhibits many symptoms of someone who has endured significant trauma. She has difficulty forming and maintaining intimate relationships, and when she does, there’s often a disconnect—a struggle to fully engage.
She experiences flashbacks, nightmares, and an overwhelming sense of dread when faced with certain triggers.
” She stopped for a moment, shifting her attention to the jury. “In short, she’s suffering from PTSD.”
The courtroom remained eerily silent, everyone seemingly holding their breath as the inner workings of my psyche were laid bare. Jurors still leaned forward, their eyes glinting with interest.
Seeing how Dr. Leishman’s testimony was the first to draw the jury forward in their seats, I couldn’t shake the thought that their interest had little to do with justice.
Maybe they weren’t weighing her words at all, just letting their minds wander into places her testimony never should have taken them.
It made me sick to think about that.
Colton took a step closer, keeping his voice gentle. “Dr. Leishman, based on your examination, would you say that Olivia’s actions—her relationships, her behavior—are consistent with someone suffering from unresolved childhood trauma?”
“Absolutely,” Dr. Leishman replied without hesitation.
“Olivia’s behavior is deeply influenced by her past. She seeks connection, but her trauma prevents her from fully engaging in healthy relationships.
Her actions are not those of a calculated manipulator, but rather of someone who is trying to navigate life while carrying an immense burden of unresolved pain. ”
Colton nodded, letting the silence stretch just long enough to emphasize the doctor’s words. Then, with a small, thankful smile, he said, “Thank you, Dr. Leishman. No further questions.”
As Colton returned to his seat, ADA Mitchell rose. His expression focused and intent, he moved toward the witness stand with a sense of purpose I found threatening.
“Dr. Leishman,” Mitchell began, his tone courteous but pointed, “you’ve spoken about the difficulties victims of childhood sexual abuse face in intimate situations. But would you say that these individuals, if triggered by certain situations, could potentially become violent?”
A flicker of discomfort crossed Dr. Leishman’s face, but she remained composed. “In some cases, yes. Trauma can cause individuals to react violently if they feel threatened or cornered. However—”
Mitchell didn’t let her finish. “So, it’s possible that someone like the defendant, with her history of trauma, could become violent if pushed too far?”
Dr. Leishman’s jaw tightened. “It is possible, but such reactions are—”
“Thank you, Dr. Leishman. No further questions.”
“Redirect, Your Honor?” Colton had stood once more, his demeanor calm as he approached the bench.
“Proceed,” Judge Antunez said. The frown that had worried me earlier had returned, clouding his brow.
“Dr. Leishman,” Colton began, “you mentioned that victims of trauma might become violent if triggered. Could you elaborate? Is it the calculated, premeditated kind of violence the prosecution suggests?”
Dr. Leishman shook her head. “No, absolutely not. The violence, if it occurs, is a reaction—an instinctual response to a perceived threat. It’s not planned or calculated.
These individuals are deeply troubled, often withdrawn and depressed, never truly feeling safe.
Their actions are driven by fear, not malice.
And while they might change their names or run from their past, as Olivia did, this behavior does not indicate an inclination toward premeditated murder. ”
The courtroom seemed to hold its breath as Dr. Leishman’s words lingered. Colton turned to the jury, his voice calm and reassuring. “So, in your professional opinion, Dr. Leishman, would Olivia’s psychological profile suggest that she is capable of planning and executing a murder?”
“No, it would not,” Dr. Leishman stated firmly. “Olivia’s actions are those of someone trying to survive, not someone plotting to harm others.”
Colton nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Leishman. No further questions.”
A wave of murmurs rose from the gallery as Dr. Leishman stepped down from the bench.
Billy Ray squeezed my shoulder again, reaching over the bar.
I turned to him and smiled weakly, but then I froze.
Seated two rows behind Billy Ray, I saw Evelyn Kensington, her perfectly styled white hair standing out in the crowded gallery.
She was looking straight at me with an unreadable expression on her face.
Embarrassed, I lowered my eyes and turned to face forward.
“Counsel, please approach,” Antunez said, that frown deeper than ever.
“What the hell?” Colton murmured, then stepped over to the bench. Mitchell looked just as puzzled.
Their conversation was barely audible, but I caught a few things.
“I will not have my courtroom turned into a circus,” the judge was saying.
“Mr. Mitchell, you might not care if you put an innocent person on death row just to notch another win, but that’s not how I uphold the law.
Let the facts and the evidence speak unaltered, and the jury will decide the case on its merit. Is that clear?”
Mitchell leaned forward. “Your Honor, I don’t quite understand—”
“The stunt you pulled earlier, accusing the defendant’s brother of murder just to throw a catchy line for the jury’s entertainment, almost landed you in contempt.
And you nearly did it again with Dr. Leishman, cutting her off when it suited you.
Next time it happens, it’s a ten thousand dollar fine and a public reprimand that will go on your record. ”
“Your Honor, opposing counsel can always object—”
“You’ve been warned, Mr. Mitchell. Step back.”
The counselors returned to their seats. Mitchell seemed thunderstruck, and Colton remained serious, but his eyes glinted with satisfaction when he looked at me.
Justice Antunez picked up the gavel. “We’re breaking for lunch until one thirty. We’re adjourned.”
The loud crack of the gavel ignited a shifting tide of whispers and shuffled papers. The door opened with a squeak, and outside, someone loudly invited another person out for tacos.
As the jury left the courtroom, I glanced at them, trying to gauge their states of mind.
Some didn’t look at me, seeming more preoccupied with one another or just with themselves.
One woman looked at me with pity, but a disdainful grimace of her mouth told me she still believed I was a murderer.
A tall, balding man frowned when our eyes met.
Another woman looked at me with unguarded disgust curling her lip.
Nothing mattered to them. Not the testimonies heard, not the evidence, not any reasonable doubt Colton had worked so hard to instill. They were still going to find me guilty.
It jarred me, hitting hard and leaving me off balance. Desperate.
I remained seated, too drained to move. Leaning over the table, I rested my head on my folded arms and closed my eyes while Colton spoke with an assistant nearby.
“Look at me,” a woman’s voice said, startling me.
I raised my head and opened my eyes. Evelyn stood next to the defense table, her demeanor fierce and unforgiving. I had to look away, ashamed.
“No, look at me, Olivia,” she insisted. She lifted my chin with her fingers until our eyes met.
I filled my lungs with air, bracing for what she had to say. She must’ve been so disappointed with me after that night we’d spent at the Illuminate gala, so frustrated with my lies.
“I’m sorry, Evelyn, I didn’t—”
“Oh, shut it,” she said. There wasn’t a single trace of scorn in her voice. “They weren’t all born into it, you know.” She let go of my chin and stroked my cheek lightly before propping her hand on her hip.
“What are you talking about?”
“Wealth, of course,” she replied. “Money. Status. Some had to fight tooth and nail for what they have. Including me. Including the late Winston Donovan himself and that cold-blooded wife of his. So, screw them if they give you the stink eye. I can think of quite a few people who belong where you sit, my dear. You know some, too.”
Her words rendered me speechless, so that I had to fight the burn of tears in my eyes. “Thank you,” I eventually whispered.
Evelyn smiled. “If you have to go down for this, go down fighting like hell. That’s what I’d do.” She placed a quick smooch on my cheek, then laughed quietly. “You’re no murderer, dearie. I know one when I see one.”
She walked away, her back straight and her head held up high, waving at me without turning her head. Her heels clacked loudly in the almost empty courtroom.
“What was that about?” Colton asked.
“I’m . . . not really sure.”