Chapter 9: The Hearing
The court date was set for ten days later.
Renee had been formally notified of the protective order the morning after it was granted.
Officer Tran told me she had accepted the paperwork without incident, which Officer Tran said meant nothing — people accepted paperwork and then did whatever they intended to do regardless.
But there was no further contact.
No calls.
No notes.
No cars on the street.
Margaret watched anyway.
She didn't say so, but I saw her at her window in the mornings.
Carol came with me to the hearing.
We sat on one side of the courtroom.
Renee sat on the other side with a lawyer — a man in a grey suit who looked expensive and bored.
I had not seen her since the pool.
She looked smaller here.
Or maybe I was just less afraid.
The judge was a woman in her sixties.
She read through the file without expression.
Then she looked up.
"Ms.
Ashworth," she said.
"You've been served with a temporary protective order.
You've retained counsel.
Do you understand the nature of today's proceeding?"
"Yes, Your Honor," Renee said.
Her voice was steady.
"Your Honor," the lawyer said, rising, "my client acknowledges the incident at the hotel was regrettable.
However, the voicemail in question was a private attempt at resolution, not a threat.
The phrase 'I know where you live' was—"
"Was recorded," the judge said.
"I've listened to it."
The lawyer paused.
"Yes, Your Honor."
"Sit down."
He sat.
The judge looked at me.
"Mrs.
Calloway.
You're the petitioner."
"Yes, Your Honor."
"You've submitted the hotel's documentation, the voicemail recording, the written note, and a neighbor's eyewitness account of Ms.
Ashworth photographing your home.
Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Is there anything you'd like to add?"
I had prepared something.
I had written it out and practiced it with Carol.
But sitting there, I found I only needed one thing.
"I have a six-month-old daughter and a ten-year-old son," I said.
"Their father d*ed seven months ago.
I took them to a hotel pool because my son asked me for one normal day.
I'd like to be able to do that again without being afraid."
The courtroom was quiet.
The judge looked back at the file.
She made a note.
Then she looked at Renee.
"Ms.
Ashworth, your attorney has characterized the voicemail as a private attempt at resolution.
I want to give you the opportunity to speak for yourself.
Is there anything you'd like to say?"
Renee's lawyer put a hand on her arm.
She shook it off.
She stood.
"I was embarrassed," she said.
"At the hotel.
I felt like I'd been made an example of, and I reacted badly.
The voicemail was — I shouldn't have said what I said.
I know that."
"Which part?" the judge asked.
Renee looked down.
"All of it."
The judge made another note.
"The protective order is made permanent," she said.
"Ms.
Ashworth, you are to have no contact with Mrs.
Calloway, her children, her home, or her property.
Violation will result in arrest.
Do you understand?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
"This court is adjourned."
The gavel came down.
Carol exhaled beside me.
I heard it — one long, slow breath.
Outside in the hallway, Renee walked past us without looking up.
Her lawyer was already on his phone.
She had her arms crossed over her chest, her red bag pulled tight against her side.
She didn't say anything.
May you like
Neither did I.
There was nothing left to say.
