Chapter 7 - The Plea Bargain
Two months passed.
The Southern California summer faded into the crisp, gold-tinged warmth of September.
Lily had come home from the hospital after forty-two days in the NICU. She now weighed seven pounds, four ounces. Her lungs were clear, her appetite was ferocious, and her nursery in the La Jolla cottage was filled with the soft scent of lavender and baby lotion.
My physical recovery had been brutal. The burns on my abdomen required daily dressing changes, compression garments, and silicone scar sheets. A wide, jagged constellation of pink and silvery scar tissue stretched across my lower stomach, running right up to the clean, horizontal line of my C-section scar.
Whenever I looked in the mirror, the scars reminded me of fire. But whenever I held Lily against my chest, they felt like armor.
On a Tuesday morning, Ethan and I sat in the downtown San Diego office of Assistant District Attorney Marcus Vance.
Spread out across his desk were several thick manila folders, forensic photographs of our kitchen floor, and transcripts of the grand jury testimony.
"Vivian’s attorney is requesting a plea deal," ADA Vance said, leaning back in his leather chair. "Her initial defense was criminal negligence and accidental injury. But once your father handed over the text messages proving premeditation, along with the surveillance footage from your hallway camera showing them testing the door handle earlier that afternoon, their case completely evaporated."
"What are they offering?" Ethan asked, his fingers laced tightly with mine.
"Kelsey has agreed to plead guilty to grand larceny and conspiracy to commit burglary," Vance explained. "She has no prior record. The deal is four years in state prison, with a mandatory minimum of two years before parole eligibility, plus full restitution for the stolen cash and attorney fees."
"And Vivian?" I asked.
Vance’s expression hardened. "The defense wants an Alford plea to assault with a deadly weapon. They’re asking for seven years, citing her age and community standing."
"No," Ethan said immediately, his voice dropping into that quiet, terrifying register. "She poured boiling milk on an eight-month-pregnant woman to steal a dead man's jewelry. That was an attempt on two lives."
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"I agree with Dr. Caldwell," I said, meeting the prosecutor’s eyes. "If you take this to a jury, I will sit on that witness stand. I will show them my burns. I will show them the records of Lily’s resuscitation. Let twelve people from San Diego County look at Vivian Hartley and decide what she deserves."
ADA Vance smiled thinly. "That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, Mrs. Caldwell. I’ll reject the offer today. We go to trial in November."
