Palace of Justice, Paris.
12 December.
DAMIANO'S POV
Angel was the one thing all the newspapers knew how to talk about. Seeing that subject transfer from my memory to the incisors of people I didn't even know was something that was going to happen no matter what the conditions, and I knew that, or thought I knew that. Because at the end of it all, something unpleasant crept into me when I saw the amount of clarification we were being asked to give on something that was nobody's business but our own. Yet at the same time, as Benjamin Franklin once said, justice will not be served until those who were not affected are as outraged as those who were. So visualising the case being titled "The Crime that Shocked France" took the matter to the heart of public opinion, which if I hated before, at that stage was the greatest ally of all the victims. The French usually specialise in making the best protests, full of intensity and determination, and this time was no different.
However, between finding dates that coincided with the judge's availability, collecting as many witnesses as possible, and dealing with all the formalities and complications of the process, I was back in court 11 years after the last time I was there. Now, with an almost doubled number of witnesses, the corridors outside the space were full of individuals I didn't know mixed with faces I had met too many times in recent times, not counting the witnesses from 'our' side, which were my father-in-law, Nica, Jacopo, my parents, Leo and Ethan, the only ones who managed to visit Angel on time. The facial expressions of many of them had aged, as had mine. As time went on and people came inside, I felt more and more alone, and that bittersweet feeling of nervousness rose in the current of the liquid that makes my heart beat faster, the same feeling I had felt the last time I left a place like that. But, Damiano, do you realise how much we have fought to be here? How many hours we took out of our lives to do our best in the name of our justice? Also, why our relationship came back, what brought us together? Those were not my words, but those of this blonde woman who lives in my thoughts every second of a minute and every minute of an hour and every hour of a day in a way that is so present it doesn't even seem like I'm far from her.
When they called my name, my body had a completely different reaction than I expected. Because although my psychological was unstable, my physical was more than ready to give everything it could do in its reach.I walked up that aisle, looked at my surroundings, and the countless LED lights all seemed focused on me. And soon the usual questions began.
"At any time did you suspect unethical practices on the part of the accused?"
"Do you confirm that you had just arrived at the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit of the Maternity Hospital in question when your daughter died?"
"It was reported that you had a panic attack in the middle of the entrance corridors of the Care Unit in question. Can you confirm that the person who assisted you was Ms Dr Alessandra Chastain, the paediatrician in charge of the alleged victim Angelina Grace?"
Those were three of many. I felt under immense pressure, because I felt like everyone present was watching every moment I decided to do it, waiting for something brilliant to come out of my mouth. But that soon ended, and then I was told to sit down in the audience.
"We will now move on to hear the witness Victoria de Angelis, mother of Angelina Grace de Angelis David," the judge said. Then my eyes lit up.
Everyone expected her to walk through that door. But she appeared right there in front of everyone, projected on a screen. Despite being in an almost empty room, her presence seemed so alive. And I seemed to sense her nervousness even though I was so far away from her.
After a few long hours, the third witness hearing session was over. Already alone in my hotel room, I was preparing my small backpack to check out, even though the time was not in my favour. All I had to do was get a French taxi, which fascinated me because they were completely different in Italy, board my flight, and go home to my favourite place.
After a short flight time, I landed on Roman soil already when the sun's rays were not projected in the sky, and the traffic lights illuminated much of the city. In some mysterious way, I managed to avoid unwanted intruders during my departure from the airport, perhaps because I was dressed like a black sleeping bag. My driver was waiting for me discreetly, and in less than half an hour, I set foot in Trastevere. In general, our area is not usually cold, but that day I really wished I had some jacket with me.
One of our security guards watches me and says 'good evening' as the gate opens automatically. As soon as I feel like I'm stepping onto the pavement, I hear a voice in the distance say with clear enthusiasm: "Pappà!". And suddenly, her delicate blonde hair tangles in my fingers, and I have my daughter in my arms again. She was no longer that little girl who lived on my lap, but somehow, 12 years have passed, and she has remained my little one. Her once strong personality moulded itself evenly with each passing moment, and almost all of her traits resembled Victoria's.
"I'm sorry sir, Ari was too agitated to..." declared Amelia, only to be interrupted by Harper's uncontrollable silence.
"Can we call Mum?" she asks me, as she looks at me with that gaze overlooking a crystal ocean.
"She might still be working. You already know what she's like, right?
"Yes..." Harp sighs. "Why can't she come back and you two can go back to being concerts?"
"Because, honey... She likes what she's doing now. And if she's happy, I'm happy."
"I know, but I wouldn't mind if Uncle Leo, Uncle Thom and Uncle Ethan came round more often. I think you've been very nervous lately," she sighs. "How was the interview in France?"
"It was... "It was good, I guess," I say, as I try to articulate a convincing lie to develop within this plot. Despite being very clever, Harp was still very innocent.
"How about we try calling Mum?" I say. "What do you think, Harpples?"
"Is that even a question?" she declares, jumping up and down.
Before long, the little girl picks up her iPad, and accesses one of the only contacts she has on her list. The Internet didn't want to make it easy for us to communicate with Vic, but the blonde quickly joins the call. Her smile synchronises with Harp's, and soon we can hear her voice.
"Good afternoon," she says in a slightly sweet voice.
"Wait, it's already evening there, right?" I say.
"Yes..." I say, in mockery. "Life in Rio must be very difficult, huh?" she laughs.
"Actually, it is." She laughs. "I'm thinking of going to the beach. Not least because the only sand I've seen so far was printed on posters of that devilish building."
"A lot of work?"' Harp asks.
"Yes, but you already know that. You called me an hour ago, don't you remember?"
"Shhhh," Harp expresses, "it doesn't matter."
"It does, because now I want to talk to your father," Victoria says.
"But it's my tablet," Harper countered.
"She's right," I say, laughing.
.
Palace of Justice, Paris.
24th August.
For too long I have wondered what the day of the verdict would be like. I once thought of it as a time that would never come. But it was closer than ever. And suddenly, the day came to put on my best blazer and hopefully never have to think about that situation again.
Those days were some of the few when Victoria was around the house. Between music and the fashion world, she was being the happiest she'd ever been, and after so much time spent in a less-than-shining place, she seemed to be at a certain point of peace, even though it meant spending a lot of time away from home. So having her for 1 week without having to worry about arrival and departure dates was like a utopian situation.
From our house in Rome, we were waiting for the news along with the rest of the world. From our bedroom window, I could see dozens of reporters while Harp decided to take responsibility for choosing my outfit. By chance or not, the first outfit she presented was a pair of lilac trousers, the colour that is known among us as "Angel's colour", along with a plain white shirt, and, by chance or not, that was the outfit I chose. The youngest blonde was wearing her long wavy hair down, and a dress with puffed sleeves and cream embroidered details, which, by chance or not, was the colour Victoria and I always wore in important situations. Vic had been in her gigantic wardrobe for far too long, as usual.
Harper was sitting in front of the TV, with Laika by her side, a dog exactly her age, and both of them had their eyes glued to the screen. For the first time, a sentence resulting from such an aggravated and famous crime would be announced and televised live, broadcasting to some countries, including Italy. We knew perfectly well that events like this had happened a few times before, and that it was only happening with these dimensions because of ourselves. We agreed to this together with the other parents because above all, we were all aware of the privilege we had.
As I joined Harp on the sofa, I watched the boring commercials that played while the session didn't start. Just 2 minutes before the trial started, I heard Vic's footsteps walking down the stairs, and then I saw her walking towards us. And she was... she was beautiful, also dressed in purple, with gold and silver jewellery, and a dress that fit her like a glove. And that outfit reminded me of something, but for a few moments I couldn't remember what it was. Then I was transported to the day we decided to renew our wedding vows 8 years ago after some time apart. She looked exactly the same as she did that day
"Ready?" she asked us.
"We were born ready," Harper and I said together.
The next few hours were pure tension, and frankly, things that were too formal for my ears and a translator that wasn't very well paced. Harp had fallen asleep in my arms, Laika and Suzi were in complete control of Vic's body and I was trying to keep my eyes open. Just as I was getting up to get something to eat from the kitchen, Victoria almost shouts my name. And the judge starts talking.
After a description of the case that I already knew almost by heart, the speakers begin to convey the information that interests us.
"The accused Corinne Leándre is now found guilty of the intentional homicide of Ambre Beauchamp, Aaron Lee, Hans Schneider and Angelina David, and of medical negligence against Ezra Lambert and Ophelia Lambert, with a sentence of 23 years of detention and compensation in the amount of €75,000 for the parents of Ambre Beauchamp, Aaron Lee, Hans Schneider and Angelina David, and another in the amount of €37,000 for the parents of Ezra Lambert and Ophelia Lambert."~
It all seems unreal until it becomes reality. And just like that, it was shocking to see something so fair when everything around my life has always been so unfair. It's like having a chronic headache that, out of nowhere, decides to stop and let you live in peace. It's a feeling you can't explain, you just feel it. And at that moment, I looked deep into Vic's face, which looked like a churning sea of tears, which at the same time seemed to harbour a storm fresh from sleep.
"Always?" she said, between sobs.
"Always, angel," I reply.