That afternoon, we took babies to the park and watched them run in the grass while Timber chased a ball. The sun warmed our faces and the wind brushed our cheeks.

The response to the media coverage was swift and decisive when the plea hit the news. People were outraged at the light sentence. Some wanted Aubrey’s legs broken. Some wanted her to get five years in prison for each broken ankle. Some wanted to send her to Belgium, permanently. I refused to read comments about the case. I wasn’t interested in the assholes who might write some iteration of what I’d read before: “Watch your own kids. If you had, this wouldn’t have happened.” But Katie and Dan forwarded me a few they knew I’d want to see, including one that read, “I say put this abusing woman in a public arena with the mother of the twins and let the mother beat the living crap out of this abuser. And sell tickets for those who want to watch!!”
I’d like to say I had matured beyond enjoying such a comment, but I hadn’t. It felt good. I concurred.

There were other comments in the following weeks I chose to ignore. An acquaintance in the grocery store said to us, “I heard you accepted a plea.”

Victim’s don’t accept pleas, criminals do. Victims have nothing to do with the process.

Another acquaintance at the pool said, “Well, that’s why I never had nannies.” When I walked away, she was still talking to my back, oblivious of the insensitivity of her comment. “Let’s go bike riding sometime,” she shouted after me.

Right.

Another acquaintance said, “I cannot believe the judge only gave her a year.”

But Judge Shaughnessy had been legally bound by the 11(i) aspect of the plea which effectively took justice out of the courts, out of the hands of the judge, ignoring the recommendations by AP&P, and put it directly in the hands of two people: Simms and Bates.

I had learned to breathe and walk away when confronted with ignorant comments about our case. I was careful who I spoke to and on whom I leaned. “It’s a long story,” I found was the best answer to avoid voyeuristic conversations with drama hungry strangers. I just walked away. I looked for the light, I accepted the dark, I grieved for the loss of my grandma, and I worshipped at the altar of gratitude.

We were safe. For now. And other babies were safe. For now.