Three Little Words.
“Please, baby, just give me another chance. It was a one-time thing. I promise it won’t ever happen again.”
“Go to hell, Logan. It’s over. We’re over.”
High school sweethearts. College lovers for a year before mutually deciding to take a break. A chance meeting a year after graduation. A loving marriage for 13 years.
Then she found him in bed with her best friend.
Maybe some people could get past it in a relationship, but she was not one of those people. More than that, he had lied about it being just a one-time thing. Her best friend told her that it happened on more than one occasion. Despite her honesty, Ava found herself unable to forgive her either. In a single moment, she lost the love of her life and her best friend.
Ava Evanson was 35 when her entire world got flipped upside down.
“I need you, Ava. If I can’t have you…I—I swear I’m going to kill myself.”
“Good, then you’d save me the trouble!”
Last words, she never thought those would be hers when she spoke to him. She was hurt. Angry. She’d said it without even thinking. Now there was regret. That’s not the last thing she would’ve wanted to say to him. Of course she had wanted him dead for what he did to her. Would she ever actually kill him? Fuck no.
The evidence against her, however, seemed to just keep stacking up. A bullet wound that was more indicative of a homicide than a suicide…signs of a struggle…her fingerprints at the scene…no suicide note…a lack of an alibi on her behalf…and a motive to want him dead.
It didn’t help that her public defender seemingly had absolutely no desire to actually try and defend her. In the times that she should have been objecting, she remained silent. When she was given her chance to cross-examine, her questions led to answers that pinned more blame on Ava instead of relieving it. Even with her opening and closing statements, she somehow managed to implicate Ava rather than make her appear innocent.
Perhaps the one thing that might have indicated it wasn’t a homicide was his threat to kill himself. The issue being that she was only one who he ever voiced something like that to. No one believed her when she stated it. Why would they? All the physical evidence pointed to her being the murderer.
Less than a half hour had passed before the jury returned with their verdict—bad sign. That was probably the fastest part of this entire process so far. Ava had spent a year in jail as a pre-trial inmate until today when she finally had her trial. Now that she had, she wished that she hadn’t. As much as she wished to be angry that the jury found her guilty, she couldn’t blame them with all the evidence that was presented. The only person she was angry with was Logan because, deep down, she knew that this wasn’t a homicide. There was just no evidence to prove it.
Ava Evanson was 37 when she was convicted and sentenced to death for a crime she didn’t commit.
“It was your job to prove my innocence! It was your job to show that I was telling the truth!”
“I did my job. From where I’m standing, it looks like the right person is being incarcerated.”
16 years of exhausting every possible avenue to prove that she was actually innocent, all to no avail.
16 years of going over every single detail of the trial, every shred of evidence, but turning up jack shit.
16 years of being tormented by the CO’s because they knew her husband, worked with him after he left the police force and clearly still respected him.
She didn’t have any more energy to be angry.
There were no tears left in her to shed.
Nothing. That was what she felt.
Ava had finally accepted that she was going to be executed for a suicide that had been staged to look like a homicide by the man she had been in love with for most of her life. Something that she could never prove, but something she never stopped believing to be true. Something she now knew to be true.
When the door to her cell opened, she didn’t move from her spot. She didn’t even react when the CO coldly stated, “It’s time.” Ava just stared blankly at the wall in front of her. She was eerily calm given the circumstances. Without a word, she got to her feet and tossed the white paper she had clutched in her hand down on the bed.
When she was close enough to the CO that would be taking her to her death, she spat in his face. A final act of defiance, she supposed. He barely reacted, as if he were expecting it. As if he was used to it. Not surprising if he was the one who led the inmates to their death. Or, perhaps, he expected it for an entirely different reason. The vindictive smirk that quirked his lips upwards as he put on her cuffs made it seem like a possibility.
After all, someone had to deliver that note. The note that was clearly written in Logan’s handwriting and confirmed everything she had always suspected.
If I can’t have you,
nobody can. See you
on the flip side. xo
How poetic now that a man who must have played a hand in her husband’s “homicide” was the one who prepared her for her execution. As he put the restraints around her, he bent his head down near her ear. His hot breath tickled her neck as he whispered something. Three little words. Three little words that sent a chill down her spine. Three little words that made all the color drain from her face. Three little words that stirred something inside of her that she hadn’t felt in a long time: rage.
It was a rage she could do nothing about because it was too late. Three little words changed everything in her final moments.
“He’s not dead.”
Ava Evanson was 53 when she was executed for a crime that never even occurred.