June's POV
Two days had passed since the jury selection, and the reality of the situation was starting to settle in. The weight of what was coming felt heavier with each passing hour. Monday was fast approaching, and with it, the start of Aiden Graham's murder trial.
I walked into the apartment after a long day at school, where my mind had been drifting constantly back to the trial. Teaching was usually the best distraction—kids asking questions, keeping me on my toes—but today, even their curious faces couldn't pull me out of the fog. I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my shoes, the routine giving me some comfort.
The lingering scent of Samantha's cooking made me realize I hadn't eaten much all day. Samantha was sitting at the dining table with her laptop open, headphones in, nodding to something on her screen. When she glanced up and saw me, she pulled off her headphones and pointed to the kitchen counter. "There's food if you're hungry. I made mac and cheese. How was school?" "Fine, same as always," I replied, my voice flat.
I went over to the kitchen and grabbed a leftover sandwich from the fridge, not really in the mood for macaroni, and leaned against the counter. The bread wasn't as cold as I'd expected, but I bit into it slowly anyway, trying to ground myself in the mundane task. "I couldn't stop thinking about the trial. It's all so... intense."
Samantha shrugged, giving me a quick smile. "I mean, yeah, murder trials aren't exactly light reading, but I'm sure we'll be fine. I went through the info packet they sent us—just basic court rules, the usual."
Her casual tone only heightened the knot in my stomach. I tossed the half-eaten sandwich back onto the counter, suddenly nauseous. "Doesn't it bother you at all? This isn't a joke, Sam. We're talking about someone's life. That girl is dead, and we have to figure out if Aiden Graham killed her."
Sam's face softened, her usual playful demeanor slipping away. "I know it's serious, June. But we're not the ones who found him guilty. We're just part of the process. It's not all on us. "It feels like it is," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "What if we get it wrong? What if he's innocent, and we're just following everyone else's lead?"
Sam pushed her laptop aside and stood up, walking over to me. "Look, I get that you're freaking out. But that's why there's a judge—not one person decides. We'll hear the evidence, and we'll figure it out together. You don't have to carry this all by yourself." I nodded, though her words did little to ease the pressure I felt. Before I could say anything else, my phone buzzed on the table, and I saw my mom's name pop up on the screen. I hadn't checked in with her since I found out about the sign being fixed. Guilt surged through me again. I hadn't been to the bakery since then, and the weight of that added to everything else. I let the phone ring until it went to voicemail, then grabbed it and shot a quick text to Mom, letting her know I'd just gotten home and would call later.
Sam watched me carefully. "You okay?" I don't know," I admitted."Hey, cut yourself some slack." Sam's voice softened.
"Life's just throwing a lot at you right now. You don't have to be perfect.
"I just... I don't want to let anyone down," I said, my voice cracking slightly.
"You won't," Sam said firmly. "We'll get through this together, one step at a time."I nodded again, but inside, I wasn't so sure. The trial loomed over everything like a shadow I couldn't escape. How was I supposed to focus on anything else when I knew we'd be sitting in that courtroom next week, listening to evidence about someone's life, someone's death?
Later that night, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I couldn't shake the image of Aiden Graham in my head. I didn't even know what he looked like, but his name kept swirling in my mind, along with the crime he was accused of. How could we make such a big decision? What if we got it wrong? I turned over, pulling the blanket up to my chin. No matter how hard I tried, sleep wouldn't come.
The trial was looming, and I had no idea if I was ready for what was coming next.The next few days flew by in a blur of school and preparations for the trial.
The morning of our third and final day in court, Sam and I sat in the kitchen, sipping coffee, both of us unusually quiet. The weight of the day hung in the air between us, unspoken. "Are you ready for this?" she asked, breaking the silence."No," I answered honestly. "But I guess it doesn't matter if I am." Sam gave me a small smile.
"We'll get through it. One step at a time."
As we headed out the door, I couldn't help but feel like we were walking into something much bigger than ourselves. We weren't just ordinary citizens anymore. We were jurors, and the fate of Aiden Graham, guilty or innocent, would soon be determined, though it wasn't solely in our hands. I wasn't sure if I was ready to carry that responsibility.
The courtroom was stifling, not from heat, but from the thick, suffocating tension. I sat in the jury box, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on my shoulders. It had been three days of intense evidence, emotional testimony, and drawn-out legal arguments.
Everyone in the room felt the strain. I could see it in the way people shifted in their seats, the occasional nervous glance exchanged between jurors. The prosecutor stood at his podium, wrapping up his final argument, his voice sharp and commanding as he walked the jury through the evidence one more time.
"The defendant, Aiden Graham, was found fleeing the scene—a clear attempt to evade justice," he said, his voice reverberating through the silent room. "His DNA was found on the victim's body, and neighbors testified to hearing screams the night she died. This was no accident, no misunderstanding—this was cold-blooded murder."
He paused, his eyes scanning the faces in the jury box as if daring any of us to doubt him. My stomach twisted. Each piece of evidence had built a picture that was hard to ignore, and now that the prosecutor was summarizing it, the clarity was almost overwhelming.
On the other side of the room, Aiden Graham sat with his defense attorney, his face tight and expressionless. His hands were clasped on the table in front of him, but I noticed his knuckles were white from the tension. He hadn't spoken much during the trial, hadn't reacted, really, but now I could see the cracks in his composure. His eyes flicked nervously between the prosecutor and the judge, and his leg bounced under the table, a barely contained energy that hinted at the turmoil beneath.
The prosecutor continued. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the evidence speaks for itself. The defendant's attempts to flee, the damning forensic reports, and the testimony from witnesses all point to one thing—Aiden Graham is guilty. Guilty of taking the life of an innocent young woman."
I glanced over and saw the victim's parents, seated in the front row. The mother's hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles white, while the father stared straight ahead, his face a mask of controlled grief. They hadn't said much during the trial, but their presence was a constant reminder of the stakes.
This wasn't just a legal matter—it was about their daughter's life, being violently taken away. The prosecutor finished with a final plea for justice, his voice filled with righteous conviction.
Then he sat down, and the defense attorney rose to make his final case. Mr. Gannon, Aiden's defense attorney, adjusted his tie before addressing the jury. His voice was calm, almost soothing, a stark contrast to the prosecutor's sharp intensity.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I know the evidence you've seen over these past few days has been difficult. There's no doubt that a tragedy occurred here. But I urge you to remember that the burden of proof lies with the prosecution. It is their job to prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that my client, Aiden Graham, is guilty."
He walked slowly in front of the jury, meeting each of our eyes as he spoke. "Yes, Aiden Graham was found running. But wouldn't you be scared if you found a young woman dead in your home? His instinct was to flee, to protect himself from being blamed for something he didn't do. And the DNA evidence? It's circumstantial at best. They were friends; his DNA could have transferred naturally." I shifted in my seat as his gaze fell on me, trying to weigh his words. Mr. Gannon continued, his voice smooth and persuasive. "You are tasked with deciding the fate of another human being. I ask that you consider the possibility that Aiden Graham is not the monster the prosecution has portrayed. There is reasonable doubt here, and that's all you need to find him not guilty."
The defense attorney finished, and the judge gave us final instructions, reminding us of the burden of proof. After dismissing the jury for deliberation, the final verdict would come down to him, guided by our input but ultimately his responsibility. It took less than an hour for us to return with our thoughts: unanimous.
When we came back to the courtroom, I glanced at the victim's parents. The mother was crying softly, and the father held her close, his jaw clenched in a way that spoke volumes about the pain they were enduring. Aiden Graham sat motionless, his eyes trained on the floor in front of him. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.
The judge began to speak, addressing both sides, reminding everyone that justice was the goal of the proceedings. My pulse quickened as I stared at the back of Aiden's head, waiting for the moment we had all dreaded.
When the judge finally rendered the verdict, his voice was calm, methodical, and deliberate: "The jury has advised, and based on their input, along with the evidence presented, I find Aiden Graham... guilty of murder in the first degree."
A muffled cry escaped from the victim's mother, and Aiden's shoulders tensed, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. His defense attorney placed a hand on his back in an attempt to calm him, but it didn't work. Aiden turned his head slightly, his cold eyes locking onto me as if singling me out from the rest of the jury. His expression was a mixture of fury and desperation, and for a moment, I thought he was going to shout something.
Instead, his lips curled into a sneer, and I saw the faintest trace of a smirk."You're all gonna regret this," he muttered, loud enough for only those near the front to hear. But I caught it. It sent a chill down my spine, and I instinctively glanced at the judge, hoping he would catch it too. But the room was already abuzz with whispers and quiet sobs from the gallery. The bailiff stepped forward, signaling for Aiden to stand, and the moment passed.
Aiden's eyes stayed on me as he was led out of the courtroom, shackled at the wrists. I could feel the threat lingering in the air long after he was gone. Samantha leaned over to me as we stood to leave, her expression unreadable.
"Did you hear what he said?" I nodded, my heart still racing. "Yeah, I heard."
Do you think he meant it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I didn't know how to answer that.