The jury deliberated for three days. My attorney tried to assure me the longer they stayed behind closed doors, the better it was for me that a juror was holding out. I had a clean record, I was a contributing member of society, and my colleagues had spoken highly of me when they'd been called as character witnesses even if they had affirmed I'd taken on too much as a new mother. Jethro was convinced a jury wouldn't send someone my age with my history to jail. But I wondered if I deserved that kind of grace. I didn't want to spend my days behind bars, but I wouldn't blame them had they deemed it a necessary punishment.
We waited to be called back to the courthouse, and each day that passed was harder than the previous. While Jethro was hoping for a hung jury, I knew I couldn't endure another trial. I wouldn't appeal whatever decision they made. I would accept the consequences and hope at some point I would be able to climb out of the manic state I'd found myself in.