Chapter 36
MAYA
Ithrow up twice before we leave for the courthouse, and Jackson holds my hair back the second time, rubbing circles on my spine while I heave into the toilet. Nothing comes up but bile. I haven't been able to eat since yesterday.
"You don't have to do this," he says quietly. "The plea deal's done, Carson's going to prison either way."
"I need to." My voice is raw. "I need to say it out loud, in front of everyone."
He helps me up and wipes my mouth with a cool washcloth. In the mirror, I look like hell. Dark circles, eyes haunted, skin dull. The pendant rests against my collarbone. I haven't taken it off since Emma found out. It's the only thing keeping me tethered.
"I'll be right there," Jackson says. "The whole time."
"I know."
But knowing doesn't stop the shaking in my hands, doesn't stop the nausea climbing my throat, doesn't stop the memories from that day. Carson's hands, his weight, the way he smiled as if nothing had happened.
Dr. Mills prepared me for this. We've spent the last few sessions doing exposure therapy, walking through what I'll say, how I'll handle cross-examination, and grounding techniques for when the panic hits.
But all that preparation feels useless now that I'm standing in my bedroom trying to get dressed, and my fingers won't stop trembling enough to button my blouse.
Jackson does it for me. Each button is slow and careful, his hands steady where mine aren't.
"Breathe," he says. "In for four, hold for seven, out for eight."
I follow the pattern. Once. Twice. Three times until the room stops spinning.
Emma's waiting downstairs with Chase. She's still not looking at me the way she used to; there's hurt in her eyes every time we make eye contact, but she came down this morning and said, "I'm riding with you to the courthouse."
Not an offer. A statement.
Chase drives. Emma sits beside him in front, Jackson and I are in the back, his hand wrapped around mine so tight it almost hurts. I need it to hurt, need something physical to focus on besides the terror crawling up my spine.
The courthouse is all concrete and glass, cold and imposing. There are reporters outside. Carson's case made news after the other women came forward. I see cameras, microphones, and people shouting questions.
"Head down," Chase says. "Don't say anything."
We push through the crowd. Someone shouts my name, and I keep my eyes on the ground, on Jackson's shoes moving in front of me, on Emma's hand suddenly gripping my elbow like she's anchoring me to the earth.
Inside, the noise cuts off.
"Maya."
I turn. Tyler's standing near the courtroom entrance, hands in his pockets, looking uncomfortable in a button-down and slacks. Donny's beside him.
Jackson tenses, his whole body going rigid. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to support Maya." Tyler steps forward. "If that's okay."
I don't know what to say. The last time I saw Tyler, he triggered a panic attack and got the shit kicked into him, which all ended with me on the bathroom floor holding a blade.
"I'm sorry," Tyler says, and his voice cracks with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Maya. I didn't know, I was trying to... fuck, I don't know what I was trying to do. Be clever? I was an asshole, and I hurt you, and I'm so fucking sorry."
The apology hangs in the air between us, raw and genuine.
“You did hurt me," I say quietly.
"I know."
"But you also pushed us together." I glance at Jackson.
Tyler nods, relief washing over his face. "I know I don't deserve to be here. But I wanted you to know I'm on your side. What Carson did to you..." His jaw clenches. "I hope he rots."
"He will," Emma says coldly. "Five to seven years."
"Not long enough," Tyler mutters.
Donny puts a hand on his shoulder. "We'll be in the gallery."
"Okay," I manage.
They head inside. Jackson's still tense beside me, his jaw tight.
"Are you okay with them being here?" he asks.
"I don't know. But I think..." I swallow hard. "I think I need everyone who cares about me in that room, even if it's messy."
The prosecutor finds us before we go in. Her name is Lisa Lawson, and she's been preparing me for this since I agreed to testify.
"How are you feeling?" she asks.
"Like I'm going to pass out."
"That's normal." She's the type of person who makes you feel safe. "Remember what we talked about. Answer the questions directly, don't elaborate unless asked. If you need a break, tell the judge."
"What if I freeze?"
"Then we'll take a break." She squeezes my shoulder. "You're going to do great. And Maya? He's already pleading guilty; this is just the sentencing hearing. You're not on trial. He is."
It helps. A little.
The courtroom is smaller than I expected. Wood paneling, high ceilings, rows of benches. Carson sits at the defense table in an orange jumpsuit, hands cuffed. He doesn't look at me when I walk in.
I take my seat behind the prosecutor's table. Jackson, Emma, and Chase sit in the first row of the gallery directly behind me. Tyler and Donny are a few rows back. The support feels like armor.
The judge enters. We stand. Then sit. The formalities blur together.
Then Lisa calls my name.
I walk to the witness stand on legs that don't feel like mine. The court clerk swears me in, his voice distant and muffled. I sit, and my hands grip the armrests.
Lisa starts with easy questions. My name. Where I worked. How long I knew Carson.
Then: "Can you tell the court what happened on the night of the assault?"
The night everything fell apart.
"I had been struggling," I start, my voice sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else. "One of my patients, a six-year-old named Lily, had died. It had been a while since it happened, but I couldn't move past it. I was devastated, couldn't sleep, couldn't function."
I can see it. Lily's small body on the table, the monitors screaming, my hands doing compressions while someone else bagged her.
"I went to Dr. Carson for help," I continue. "He was my supervisor; I thought he could give me guidance on how to cope with losing a patient."
"And what happened when you went to him?"
"He said he wanted to talk somewhere private, said he needed to grab something from the supply closet, and asked if I could help him find it to allow us to talk.
I didn't think anything of it, I just followed him.
" My hands start shaking. "But once we were inside, he locked the door. And then he grabbed me."
Lisa's voice is gentle. "What did you do?"
"I froze. I didn't..." The courtroom is too small, too hot, and the walls feel like they’re closing in. "I told him to stop. I said no."
"Did he stop?"
"No."
"What did Dr. Carson do?"
I close my eyes, but that makes it worse because I can see him, feel him. "He pushed me against the shelves and covered my mouth when I tried to scream. He said..." I choke on the words. "He said no one would believe me."
"Did he rape you, Ms. Rivera?"
"Yes."
The word echoes through the courtroom. I hear Emma sob. Someone in the gallery, Tyler I think, curses under his breath.
"After the assault, what happened?"
"He left. Just straightened his coat and walked out as if nothing happened." The clinical details help, focusing on facts instead of feelings. "I stayed there for a while, I don't know how long. Then I went home."
"Did you tell anyone right away?"
"No. I gave it a few days, I was trying to process what happened, trying to figure out if anyone would even believe me."
"What made you decide to report?"
"Because I couldn't keep going to work and pretending nothing happened. Because I kept seeing him in the hallways, and it made me sick. I thought if I reported it, HR would do something and would protect me." My voice breaks. "I thought if he did this to me, he might do it to someone else."
Lisa nods, then pauses. "Ms. Rivera, after you were terminated, did the hospital or Dr. Carson's legal team approach you with any kind of offer?"
I feel my jaw tighten. "Yes. Once the court proceedings started and he was at risk of being jailed, they offered me half a million dollars, tax-free."
There's a murmur in the gallery. Lisa lets it settle before continuing. "What were the conditions of this offer?"
"That I signed an NDA. That I never speak about what happened, never pursue charges, never tell anyone." The anger rises in my chest, hot and sharp. "They wanted to pay me to disappear."
"And what was your response?"
"I'm here, aren't I?" The words come out harder than I intend.
"I didn't want their money. It made me sick that they thought they could quiet me with it, like what he did to me had a price tag.
" My hands shake on the armrests. "I'm here, despite how hard this is, despite how badly I want to cry and scream into oblivion, because I'm not doing this for money.
I'm doing this for justice. For me, and for anyone else he's wronged. "
Lisa's expression softens with something like pride. "Thank you, Ms. Rivera."
She walks me through the reporting process, each question methodical and careful. How I went to HR, how they interviewed Carson, how he denied everything, and how they fired me two weeks later.
"Were you given a reason for your termination?"
"They said it was budget cuts, that they had to let some staff go." Tears stream down my face now. "But I was the only one fired. No one else lost their job."
"What do you believe was the real reason?"
"Because I reported him. Because it was easier to get rid of me than deal with what he'd done."
The defense attorney stands for cross-examination. He's older with gray hair and an expensive suit, the kind of lawyer who makes you feel dirty just looking at him.
"Ms. Rivera, you admit you were emotionally distraught the night of the alleged assault?"
"Yes."
"And you'd been working for..." he checks his notes "...fourteen hours straight?"
"Yes."
"Is it possible that in your exhausted, grief-stricken state, you misinterpreted Dr. Carson's intentions when he asked you to help him in the supply closet?"
The question is designed to undermine me, to make me doubt myself. "No."
"You said you didn't scream, didn't fight back. Why not?"
My nails dig into the armrest. "Because he was bigger than me, stronger. Because he had his hand over my mouth, because I was terrified."
"But you're a trained medical professional. You know how to assess situations, call for help..."
"Objection," Lisa cuts in. "Argumentative."
"Sustained."
The defense attorney tries a different angle. "You waited several days to report, didn't seek medical attention, and didn't preserve any evidence. How can you expect this court to believe..."
"I did seek medical attention." My voice cuts through his, sharp. "I went to the hospital. I had a rape kit done."
He doesn't miss a beat. "But you waited days before doing so. Any physical evidence was likely compromised by then. And you didn't go to the police immediately, didn't file a report when the assault allegedly occurred..."
"Because I was scared!" The words rip out of me. "Because he told me no one would believe me, and I thought he was right. Because I was trying to process what happened to me while still having to see him every single day at work."
"Ms. Rivera, isn't it possible that you regretted a consensual encounter and decided later to..."
"Three other women came forward!" I'm shouting now, shaking. "He did the same thing to them, because he's a predator who used his position to assault vulnerable women and got away with it for years!"
"Ms. Rivera..."
"I'm telling the truth!" Tears and snot run down my face, but I don't care anymore. "He raped me in a supply closet while I was struggling. And then he made sure I got fired so I couldn't fight back."
The judge calls for order. Lisa asks if I need a break, her voice concerned. I shake my head.
"No more questions," the defense attorney says quietly.
I step down on unsteady legs and walk back to my seat. Jackson's here, pulling me into his arms the second I reach the gallery. I bury my face in his chest and sob.
The other women testify. Their stories are similar. Late nights, locked doors, supply closets, threats disguised as concern. One of them has security footage, another has text messages where Carson all but admits what he did.
When it's over, the judge doesn't deliberate long.
"Dr. Richard Carson, you have pleaded guilty to four counts of sexual assault. This court sentences you to seven years in state prison, followed by lifetime registration as a sex offender. Bailiff, remove the defendant."
Seven years. It’s not enough, not nearly enough.
But it’s something.
Outside, the air hits my face, cold and biting. I stand on the courthouse steps with Jackson's arms around me, and it feels like I can finally breathe.
Emma approaches slowly, her eyes red, face blotchy from crying.
"I'm so proud of you," she says.
"Are we okay?" The question comes out broken, desperate.
"We're getting there." She pulls me into a hug. "I love you both, I'm just hurt.”
"I know, I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing." She pulls back and wipes her eyes. "You just faced your rapist in court and won. You're a fucking warrior."
Jackson kisses my temple right there, in front of everyone.
Tyler approaches, cautious. "You were incredible in there."
"Thanks for coming," I say.
"Thanks for not hating me."
"I don't hate you, you're just an idiot."
He grins. "Fair."
Chase has the car running, and we pile in. Emma in front, Jackson and me in back. The pendant feels lighter against my chest, or maybe I'm just lighter.
"Where to?" Chase asks.
"Home," Emma says, then she glances back at us. "Our home. All of us."
As Jackson laces his fingers through mine, I realize something: I don't need to be fixed, don't need to be saved.
I just needed to be believed.
And today, in that courtroom with my family behind me and the truth finally spoken—I was.