My Husband Defended the Man Who Assaulted Me Chapter 06

My Husband Defended the Man Who Assaulted Me Chapter 06

The court hearing was adjourned on the spot. Eden was placed in immediate custody, while Celine was detained pending further investigation.

Outside, reporters swarmed crazily.

Moments ago, they’d been asking if I was a sex addict, a jealous wife, a honey-trapper.

Now they turned on Sullivan.

“Mr. Evans, your response to the new evidence?”

“Did you just slut-shame the actual victim in open court?”

“Did you illegally obtain your wife’s psychiatric records using marital privilege?”

“Were you having an affair with Celine Whitmore all along?”

“Is she really carrying your child?”

Sullivan said nothing. Just stared at me.

Mom shielded me with her body from every camera, every mic.

“Back off! All of you!”

“An hour ago you asked her why she didn’t kill herself. Now you want to play nice? Get lost!”

She walked me out. Sullivan tried to follow. My mom whirled around.

“Stay away from her! Haven’t you done enough?”

Sullivan went pale. He tried to prepend his mouth—nothing came out.

Mom took me to Pine Ridge Medical Center.

The trauma team ran an evaluation.

I sat in the exam room. My hands trembled nonstop, stiff with post-traumatic dread.

Dr. Cross asked me in a gentle, cautious tone, “Do you know where you are right now?”

I nodded. “Hospital.”

“Right now, what scares you the most?”

I was quiet for a long time.

Then I said, very softly.

“Him.”

“Who?”

I closed my eyes.

His name came out of my throat like broken glass.

“Sullivan Evans.”

The room went still.

Mom’s tears dropped onto the floor.

Dr. Cross wrote something down. Then, very calm,

“Why are you afraid of him?”

I looked down at my bandaged wrists.

“Because he knows every wound I have.”

“Other people just insult me. He knows exactly where to cut.”

Outside the door, Sullivan stood there. He heard every word.

I don’t know what his face looked like.

But Mom told me later.

He looked like he’d just been slapped across the soul. He staggered.

Dr. Cross stepped out, saw him, frowned.

“Are you family?”

His voice was wrecked.

“I’m her husband.”

Inside, I heard it. My whole body locked up.

Dr. Cross looked back at me.

I grabbed Mom’s sleeve.

“Don’t let him in.”

My voice shook. “Don’t let him in…”

Mom blocked the door.

“You heard it. She doesn’t want you here.”

Sullivan stood there, eyes burning.

“Vivi, I just want to say I’m sorry.”

I started shaking uncontrollably. My chair scraped against the floor.

Dr. Cross stopped him immediately.

“You can’t approach her right now. She’s showing a clear trauma response.”

Trauma response.

Sullivan heard those words and went completely still.

Seven years ago, he had been the one who knew every definition of trauma response better than anyone.

He’d told the court my stiffness, my silence, my fear… were nothing but all trauma responses.

He said it wasn’t my fault.

Now that same word sat between us.

He had become my trauma.

That night, Sullivan went back to his office.

He pulled out the file from seven years ago.

The old transcript was yellowed.

His own words stared back at him.

[The victim does not have to be perfect.]

[She drank? That doesn’t mean consent.]

[She wore a dress? That’s not an invitation.]

[Her fear made her freeze! That’s not willingness.]

[We’re here to judge the predator.]

[Not the woman he already broke.]

Sullivan read every word..

They were like blades cutting into his own flesh.

He’d said all of them.

And today, he’d betrayed every single one.

He clutched the file to his chest.

For the first time in his office, Sullivan Evans broke down and sobbed.

He fumbled out his phone and sent me a message:

[Vivian. I’m sorry. I was wrong.]

[I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. But please… let me see you. Just once.]

The message went through—only to pop up with a glaring red exclamation mark. I had blocked him.

Sullivan stared at that red icon.

After a long, long time, he whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

But those hollow words would never find their way to me, not ever again.