“You got me lookin’ at that heaven in your eyes.

I was chasin’ your direction, I was tellin’ you no lies,

and I was loving you.

When the words are said, baby, I lose my head.

And in a world of people, there’s only you and I.

There ain’t nothing come between us in the end.

How can I hold you when you ain’t even mine?

Only you can see me through, I leave it up to you.”

~ “Shadow Dancing” Andy Gibb

It was a little over two years since our eyes last met when the day of the hearing arrived. The hope still burned inside this would force her to come clean. That the Anya I came to know and love would make an appearance upon seeing me again with it being much easier to hide true feelings behind letters and from others. Believing my defense and response to the restraining order was strong enough to not require an attorney. Putting my faith in the court to easily ascertain the truth. It was understandable why Anya chose this route, considering the pressure she likely felt from Jackson, but without there being any evidence of a threat to her physical safety, there’s just no way this order had two legs to stand on. After reading several articles and instances in which restraining orders were granted, the severest being five years, there were real threats to cause personal harm. One guy wrote he was coming over his ex-girlfriend’s house for one reason, to kill her. Another sent hundreds of texts to an ex-girlfriend threatening her life. Nothing I ever did came remotely close to that. There was no desire to harm her physically—I couldn’t hate her that much even if I tried. Once the court read my response about how her car accident affected me, the judge would understand the man seated before them was not who the plaintiffs made him out to be. It was all laid out in my response in no uncertain terms—this order was being pursued on false pretenses and without full disclosure. There was no joy in sending her texts with my response, but they offered the best defense against her claims. If the court had no proof this woman fantasized about wanting to have a baby with me, how could they understand my position? This wasn’t an instance of a rabid fan stalking a celebrity—learning even celebs had a difficult time obtaining restraining orders although clearly having every right to fear for their safety. Every single instance of a person that filed for a restraining order, that I read, had very serious things communicated putting them in reasonable fear for their safety and in a state of emotional distress.

Although the restraining order was mostly being obtained on false pretenses, there was an understanding it needed to be filed—I did something that I wouldn’t want someone to do to me. This was exactly what Jackson hoped I do—giving him more power over her. And although my real goal was to tear him apart in my response and protect Anya, it only ended up hurting her as well. The messages on the box and the act itself, although original, didn’t make me feel whole again, only proving how distorted my thinking had become. The intent was to force myself to move on by imploding all the hope left for us. In the end, even after the false accusations she made, my heart broke for her. While people fought me with the “If she loved you she would just leave” argument all the time, Anya really wasn’t like the general public. There was a business, real estate, a campaign, and the cost of college for her kids she had to consider unlike most who could leave much easier. My problem was how she misrepresented her situation to me in the beginning—telling me she felt no one wanted to be with her because she had kids and that no one would be there for her if she left. At that time she really did feel something strong for me, but she just never believed in love enough for those feelings to be sustainable. She told me she believed in our love and its goodness then hit me with “we mothers sacrifice our happiness for our children”. The only way she betrayed her children is if Jackson never dishonored her as their mother and his wife. Otherwise, I could never believe she did by intentionally misrepresenting her situation to me—his actions and the resulting damage he perpetrated on her was what betrayed her kids. There was no hope for her kids to find out about us from me—there was nothing to gain. My opiate usage only increased since the restraining order filing. After my mother began experiencing severe hip pain, her oncologist upped her monthly prescriptions for Vicodin and Norco, tripling her usual supply. With there now being more for the taking, my tolerance levels peaked at the worst possible time.

Before stepping a single foot inside the courthouse on the day of the hearing, I swallowed three Vicodin to stymie the swelling raw emotions. Preparing to witness her conspiracy in person required sedation. If she was brazen enough to file false police reports she would certainly feel more emboldened with the swine by her side. A night earlier, my mother warned me to be respectful to the judge, fearing my emotions would put me in contempt. All I could do was laugh, believing there was no way the judge wouldn’t see her deception. And if the judge ruled in favor of Anya by granting the order for a year or two, I’d accept that—I wouldn’t want to hear from me either if I did what I did. Her gifts only sent back to Jackson to annihilate any remaining hope. The truth was Anya’s capability of all around deception, even to herself, had already ended me. I understood the restraining order but conspiring with the police official in her neighborhood to file false police reports against me was an act of evil. You protect your children with the truth, not with lies. All I ever wanted was her honesty—to know she was the person I let my guard down and trusted—even if she had to rip my heart out to tell me she still loved her husband and wanted to work things out with him. At least she allowed me to know how to feel. But if she was willing to lie to her kids, two people I knew she loved more than life itself, she’d have no problem lying to me; the reason I now found myself walking inside a courthouse among the angry and broken. Anya definitely had a conscience, but her deception misguided it—her creed being no one can be hurt by what they didn’t know. In my parasitic mind, I needed to do something drastic to start the healing process. Without movement there was no energy, and in this life, the unenergetic are the ones who perished. And, when you’re wasting away to nothing, there is nothing more to lose.

Covertly, I killed myself everyday since Anya left me. After searching this earth for over thirty-five years before meeting anyone even remotely close to her, Anya taught me why I held out for so long—why all my prior relationships failed so badly. She taught me the kind of women I’m capable of loving and feeling deeply for—what gave all marriages the best chance of survival. For those so afraid of ending up alone, they never truly know how love is supposed to feel—the reason why fifty percent of them end up in divorce. She was the woman who made me realize what love is supposed to feel like, and if I wasn’t picky before, I was beyond picky now—making this love worth fighting for; representing the end of the line for me.

After receiving a pat down upon entry, I found an isolated seat outside my assigned courtroom. As the drug kicked in, calmness washed over me while gazing out among the many other couples standing and sitting nearby. There didn't seem to be a chance for a quick and speedy trial--we’d likely be here for most of the day. At fifteen minutes before the courtroom doors were set to open, Anya and Jackson strode hastily by me, hand in hand—an intentional move to spike my emotions. She walked with no indication of a car accident, showing off her skillful deception in real time. She seemed to fight the temptation to sneak a glance at me—or perhaps a sneer. Jackson snarled at me though, like a rabid dog, muttering something indecipherable under his breath, the kind of reaction reserved for murderers. Telling myself he wanted a reaction; I forged a smile instead knowing the truth will reveal itself in court—he stood no chance. Seeing her hand in his disturbed the peace three Vicodin pills created within, but he wanted a reaction to make this an open and shut case. Jackson undoubtedly had a busy schedule on this day and wanted to get back to it as quickly as possible. If I reacted, he would be able to retreat into his money and there was no way I was going to allow that. This was the day he would learn the truth—win, lose or draw.

As we waited for the courtroom doors to open, it was easy to see how the court system profited on the emotional pain of others—like one big corporation. If any of these cases were like mine, these people could resolve their differences without the court’s involvement, but the state had money to make. How else would the judges, state prosecutors and its attorneys, even its bailiffs remain gainfully employed? Did I put too much faith in justice?

As the courtroom’s large cherry wood doors opened and people began filing inside, it appeared sitting so far from everyone else before entering would leave me standing throughout the morning. My plan was to be the last one to enter, creating distance between myself and Anya. But the philanderer sniffed out my plan, holding the door open for people until the last person to walk through them was me.

Jackson Caiaphas stood there holding the door, a picture of success in his suit and tie, looking to end this before a hearing took place. With an old collared light blue short sleeved shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks, I internally vowed to make my way inside without incident--to not give him what he wanted.

“Hey, you fuck.” he said, his colorless eyes peering down upon me.

I knew what he wanted, but I waited too long for this moment.

“Happy belated birthday.” I remarked with a smirk, my own attempt to provoke him.

“You’re goin’ down today.” He responded nodding, his black eyes narrowing. “You sick fuck.”

Jackson was clearly running this circus act and he came to the Lamoreaux Justice Center Superior Courthouse on this day to put on a show. The more he attempted to provoke me, the more it seemed my “gift” hurt Anya more than it had hurt my true intended target. At a time I needed to be my most vigilant, a life defining hour, the Vicodin left me suddenly too sedated to care.

Taking a seat on the other side of the courtroom from Anya, Jackson opted to stay outside for probably good reason. I glanced over at Anya a few times, her beauty noticeably still intact, but her head never turned until a person took the empty seat next to her—a blonde female, who appeared to be Debbie. Did they convince Debbie to conspire against me too? After a few seconds passed, my eyes became better focused—this woman was not Debbie but her attorney. After we all stood for the judge upon her entry, the Honorable Judicial Officer Beatrice Cordon, it wasn’t soon after that she jumped into hearing cases. While hearing the struggles of others in serious relationships that had fallen apart violently at the seams, I couldn’t believe Anya and I were among them. With each person that came before the judge, remorse swelled inside me, not because of the restraining order, but how my actions gave Jackson power, allowing him to wait comfortably outside the courtroom while leaving Anya to be judged. My heart wanted to believe her love for me would see this and shine through, that this couldn't have been her idea, but Jackson’s. That the Anya I knew and loved would appear before the court to tell the truth behind all we stood for—why the man who truly loved and valued her ended up at his wit’s end. But why did she give him any power over her after all he’s done? Would she be in this courtroom today if he respected her enough to never cheat on her? If he never chipped her heart away? Why did she come visit me so many times? Tell me the horrible things she did about him only to find herself under his complete and total command? Living a completely dishonest life, based on the greatest lie ever lived, just didn’t make sense. You protect the kids with the truth, not with more lies.

By the time the clock hand reached eleven, a total of five cases were heard. With each one, the judge listened intently to each party and was very fair to both in the end. This one man and woman had a physical altercation and the guy took the blame for everything yet Judicial Officer Cordon was empathetic to his side, sensing how much pain this situation caused him. Compassion was clearly the hallmark of this judge, showing me if I presented my side of things in a respectful fashion, she would at least listen and judge me fairly. Jackson Caiphas was listed as a protected party on the restraining order request, along with Katie and Andrew. Why was he listed on it at all? I had more of a reason to be a protected party on it than he did considering his provocative actions before entering the courtroom. Weren’t restraining orders mainly for the protection of women? It also bothered me that both Katie and Andrew were listed on the order because I never threatened to contact them nor had I ever attempted to. How could sending the gifts Anya gave me over the course of our relationship to her husband be considered an act of physical violence worthy of a stay away order? I could understand a no contact order, but this was the first time in over two years we were physically near each other after a very emotional physical relationship; a remarkable feat. This just didn’t add up. If I knew this was the end game, I would've delivered Jackson’s gift personally and saved myself the one hundred twenty-dollars UPS charged me. My actions warranted a no contact order at best, but not a stay away order.

At a quarter until noon, we still had not been called up to have our case heard and my Vicodin high was wearing off. Knowing this would likely go past lunch and needing another pill to stymie the irritability I began feeling, I left the courtroom to use the restroom—hoping to time my lunch in line with a Vicodin high. Upon exiting the courtroom with my mind fixated on a fix, Jackson suddenly appeared before me.

"Don't you fuckin' hit me." He told me as I walked by him, in a feminine childish tone.

It really begged the question, if he believed he had a strong case against me, why did he need to resort to this tactic? Was this how members of Congress usually acted? With every choice word he uttered, it not only proved his cowardice, but also provided proof that Anya had chosen a douchebag as a life partner. If Anya approved of any of this, she deserved him and her heart to be chipped forever away. This guy was actually a father? This man was the better and rational choice for Anya in the eyes of her friends? It was bad enough to learn that Jackson was even worse of a human being than I ever believed he was, but knowing that Anya married him and defended him was even worse. That she went along with this after all the times he cheated on her. After throwing down one of the two pills in my pocket in the restroom, I continued to ignore his verbal attacks on my way back inside, much to his dismay. There’s just no way, if Anya knew what Jackson was trying to pull outside, would she allow him to continue this unhinged behavior—turning against him if she knew he tried to provoke me. The Anya I knew would be disgusted.

When the clock struck noon, Judicial Officer Cordon told the remaining parties we would resume at one thirty. Wanting to be the last one out to avoid any further confrontations with Jackson, upon my exit I saw Anya and her attorney meeting with him. His arms began flailing about with impatience while speaking with them, his face noticeably flush red, bringing me back to the time he craned his entire body outside of his car's driver side window while he waited in traffic. In just the short time witnessing his quirks and demanding impatient nature, I saw how Anya was drawn to me—certainly these traits got old after his infidelities. A man of complete intolerance, Jackson soon stammered away like a spoiled brat from both Anya and her attorney, and completely from out of view.

Before I could flee the scene to find a place to have lunch, a stocky salt and peppered hair man in a blue suit approached me.

“Are you Landyn…Lastman?” He asked, reading from a piece of paper on a clipboard.

“I am.”

“Is your attorney here?”

“I don’t have one.”

“You’re representing yourself?"

“That’s correct.”

“Your case is going to be heard in this courtroom in ten minutes.” He instructed, pointing his finger at its closed doors.

“Okay. Thank you.” I reluctantly agreed, nodding.

With my hopes of seeking lunch before my hearing dashed, I went to the restroom again to take the remaining pill in my pocket. After doing so, I found a secluded corner to make a quick phone call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom.”

“Well…how’d it go?”

“I’m going in to see the judge in ten minutes.” I informed her. “They moved my hearing to another courtroom.”

“How do you feel?”

“I feel pretty good.” I replied positively yet with uncertainty. “Although I must say her husband is doing everything in his power to provoke me.”

“Don’t let him—he’s trying to make the judge’s decision an easy one.”

“I know what he’s up to.” I reassured her.

“And remember don’t say anything nasty to the judge” she warned me. “They could hold you in contempt of court.”

“I’m emotional but in control.” I told her as the sedative effect of the last pill began taking my mind elsewhere.

Keeping my eye on my assigned courtroom, I noticed Jackson talking to a gentleman in a black suit with sunglasses on right outside its doors. I then watched Anya and her attorney walk inside leaving Jackson to his conversation. As I followed Anya's lead, Jackson didn't even acknowledge my presence when I appeared in his view.

“I gotta go.” I whispered. “Just wanted to give you an update.”

“Ok, good luck, Landy. Love you.”

“Love you too.” I quickly replied before shutting off my cell phone and walking into my hearing.

Upon entry, the wide and bare headed bailiff instructed me to a seat right in front of the judge’s bench. The courtroom was completely empty—not a troubled soul in sight; our case apparently the only one being heard inside this courtroom to provide privacy—something I wasn’t opposed to. It also seemed, likely based on my response to the restraining order, our case may last a little longer--recognized by the court as being different from the others heard earlier. After witnessing Judicial Officer Cordon hand down verdicts with equity and compassion, even ruling in favor of a man who physically beat up his girlfriend, it seemed I was being extended the same courtesy. If the Judge did read my response to the order, there could be no denying me a fair hearing. Anya, or Jackson, or both in essence, attempted to obtain the restraining order on false pretenses—my response to the restraining order pointing it out in detail. There really was no fear in losing, and if I lost, if it made things right for Anya, in the sense of what I did was wrong in some way, I could live with that. It was hard to learn on this day this is where I stood with her—in her eyes, a monster; no longer the man she couldn't keep them off of. That our love in the end meant nothing to her because she was duped into believing she betrayed her kids. I never expected her to choose the happiness of her children over us or me—I just trusted her to never allow me to feel a single thing if that was ever a concern--and it had to be from day one. I trusted her to know when she said “I love you”, what those words meant. If the judge granted her the restraining order for a year or two, if it righted a possible wrong done by me, I'd accept the verdict. The horrendous lies within her statements was the reason why my pushback was necessary. If her goal was to protect her husband and make me out to be the monster after all we shared and felt, after all I lost, then it was war. If I never fought back, blindly choosing nobility, the lies would forever be believed.

“Please rise for the Honorable Missus Terri Shamm.” Announced the bailiff as the thin dark-haired judge entered the room.

The black robed and pale skinned Judicial Officer Shamm, her short hair hanging just above her neck, appeared to be of Vietnamese descent. She strode to her place behind the bench with a sense of purpose and appeared both frail and frigid, a complete antithesis to Judicial Officer Cordon. Trying not to read too much into her looks, it wasn’t fair to do, she seemed to be a no-nonsense judge, possibly a maneater. But even with a male judge, it could go either way.

After sitting down, she nodded at the older but muscular Bailiff, prompting him to ask for Anya and I to stand and raise our right hands.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do.” I stated firmly.

“I do.” Replied Anya, meekly.

“Please be seated.” the bailiff finished.

“This is case four-nine-two-five-LLV-two-seven—Anya Caiphas versus Landyn Lastman.” Stated Judicial Officer Shamm. “Are there attorneys present for both parties?”

Thankfully, Anya’s attorney rose first.

“Your honor, I am representing the petitioner today.” She announced. “The defendant does not have legal representation.”

“You are representing yourself, Mister Lastman?”

“That is correct, your Honor.” I replied, impressed with Anya’s attorney and actually grateful for stating that on my behalf.

“And your name is?”

“Claudine Courtney.” she told the Judge. “May I approach the bench?”

“Certainly.”

Claudine then handed Judicial Officer Shamm her business card then walked back to stand next to Anya. Although being in a courtroom, let alone as a defendant was entirely foreign, it seemed strange for an attorney to hand the judge their business card. Then again, maybe this was just basic operating procedure when an attorney represents a client in front of a particular judge for the first time.

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“Thank you, Miss Courtney.” she acknowledged with a nod. “Are you prepared to make an opening statement?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

Before Claudine spoke, her professionalism and presence immediately stood out—she couldn’t have been a cheap attorney. She also seemed like a decent person, not your stereotypical attorney who is out for the money, leaving me to wonder if she was one of Anya’s friends. Perhaps one of her neighbors? She reminded me so much of Debbie that it seemed like someone Anya would befriend. Before she spoke, I turned around to see if Jackson made his way inside the courtroom, but he still remained outside incognito--finding it curious he was listed on the order but having no apparent plans to testify against me. Why wouldn’t he want to corroborate Anya's story? After all, I sent the package directly to him, not to Anya. How could he be listed on the restraining order without having to testify? Then again, wouldn’t her kids have to testify as well? His absence from the courtroom was glaring to me, leaving her out here to be solely judged, while escaping the judgments he deserved more than anyone. As everything caught me off guard, the Vicodin began to hit, subduing the fight needed to properly defend myself.

“Your Honor, Missus Caiaphas is here today and is requesting a restraining order against Mister Lastman because he has been harassing her for four years now.” Stated Claudine. “She has told him several times to not contact her yet he continues to do so. My client is emotionally distressed and just wants to be left alone.”

“Thank you, Miss Courtney.” She responded. “Mister Lastman…your opening statement, please.”

“Thank you, your Honor.” I answered, rising from my seat. “Missus Caiaphas and I were in a serious relationship for two years and my contact with her was limited and not harassment in any way, shape or form—it served a legitimate purpose. What has been communicated to the court is essentially not true—for example, this hasn’t been goin’ on for four years.”

“Thank you, Mister Lastman.” She replied, very respectfully. “Missus Caiaphas, can you please describe the nature of Mister Lastman’s harassment?”

Upon hearing Judicial Officer Shamm’s phrasing of her question, suggesting I did harass Anya, it made me wonder if she read my response to the restraining order—seemingly already guilty in her eyes.

“He won’t leave me alone.” Anya exclaimed.

It was the first time I’ve heard her real voice in over two years, and remembering how much her voice used to resonate within me made this suddenly tougher. My ears had a love for her voice, always did, and always would. But the words that came from her mouth, reminded me this was not the same voice of the woman I learned to love.

“I’ve asked him many, many times to stop contacting me but he continues to do so.” She continued. “He is scary and creepy and is out to hurt my kids and ruin my life.”

“What kind of things has he done?” Asked the presiding judicial officer, leaning forward and now taking notes.

“He wrote me letters, sent me emails, CD’s, DVD’s. a dirty towel, books, an old broken alarm clock, and even a bra. I don’t know why he sent me all these things and I don’t know where they came from.” She lied. “He sent a box full of these items to my house disguised as a gift. He wrote vulgar notes on the box threatening to harm my husband and he even sprayed the inside of the box with mens’ cologne. We also receive constant calls from him all the time then he hangs up whenever we answer. We also had our car broken into that same weekend.”

“Did you file a police report?”

“Yes.”

“Was Mister Lastman arrested?”

“No, he wasn’t…they just took my complaint down.”

“Did he do anything else?” Asked the judge, jotting down notes more intensely.

“He’s not right and really screwed up psychologically. I fear for my life.” Anya stated, her voice shaking. “He threatened to kidnap my children.”

Leaning back in my chair with my arms folding across my chest, this lie blew me away—my renumeration for believing in love in real time. They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and I'd argue that's the greatest understatement ever made. To hear this come from the mouth of the woman I loved more than I could ever love myself. A woman who told me she needed me like she needed air. A woman who urged me to fight for her. A woman who fantasized about having a child with me. A woman who told me she wanted to wear my ring. That she wished, hoped and dreamt for us. And all along, it came with a huge undisclosed disclaimer--as long as I remained a secret. She was angry because I forced her out from the shadows, her safe space she used to hide her deceit from me after questioning her love. Now, I brought her out into the open to learn the truth--her love was completely conditional. After all I tried to do and lost doing for her that was never my job to do, she believed it best to defame and slander me. The need to yell “objection” or, “liar” caused a rift within, but I fought back the reaction knowing I’d have my turn to defend myself. For her to tell such a horrific lie, bearing false witness without hesitation, even justifying it as an act to protect her children, just couldn’t have been more wrong. She demanded my nobility while participating in the most classless of acts. If she could lie this easily, in a court of law, willingly perjuring herself, it left me wondering how many other lies she told me during our relationship. All I could do was shake my head, hoping she saw me do so--there couldn't have been a greater fool on earth than me.

“After the package was sent, I saw him outside my home.” She told the court, continuing her defamation of my character. “When I realized it was him, I picked up my dog and ran inside the house.”

After this lie, the urge to react forced me to place my hand over my ears and stare down at the blank yellow paper legal pad in front of me. After she told the judge I threatened to kidnap her children, two kids I rooted for from afar because of all she shared with me about their lives, it hit me. I would never trust another woman, let alone love another enough to ever have kids of my own. If there was a bridge nearby, I would have leapt off it without a second thought upon realizing this sudden epiphany. Not because what she said was true, but after it took six years to find myself after Denise left me, her words confirmed there was nothing left to salvage of all I ever hoped for. And it was true—Jackson likely put her up to this and that’s why the coward stayed outside. But, the fact she went through with it told me she never had plans of being honest with anyone. That she never believed she was in control of her destiny, yet, she took my heart anyway. Now here I was on trial as her “abuser” while her true abuser hid outside like the rat he was. Anya’s entire life was a lie, so how could I have ever expected anything different from her? Hope truly was the postponement of disappointment.

“Did your children witness you receiving the package or opening it”? The Judicial Officer asked Anya.

“Yes, they did.” She replied, sniffling.

If what she was true, it’s not what I intended, horrifying me especially after including her bra. Undoubtedly knowing who I am now, it’s not the introduction to them I envisioned. Excluding that likely scenario, after Anya finished her fifteen-minute testimony of defamation, bringing to light why she had such a meek response while raising her right hand, Judicial Officer Shamm turned her attention to me.

“Do you have any questions for the petitioner?” she asked.

“I can ask her questions, your Honor?” I replied, surprised to have the opportunity to do so because of her no contact order request.

“Yes.” she stated, strongly. “Do you have any questions for her?”

It took me a few seconds to respond, trying to reconcile Anya’s demonstrative malice and the sedation from the five Vicodin I took.

“I do.” I said, frantically searching through my binder and pulling out the handwritten letter she wrote and mailed to me after she found Katie’s essay on her computer.

Gathering myself before speaking after her lies left me visibly unsettled and anxious, I stood to face her. For the first time in two years we stood in the same place as each other, yet as far away as the Oort cloud. All those intimate times we shared together, in my apartment, at Cascade Park, on our beach, in Laguna Beach, San Diego and San Francisco had brought us here. A place we should never have found ourselves—surrounded by those who wanted to destroy us forever. There was the part of me that understood her anger—that I put her in this position with my actions. That she was defending herself as much as I was. But, I came armed with the truth, while lies stole her from a shred of decency. There was nothing I conjured up on the fly here. There were no lies spewing from me to destroy a life she maimed by staying married to an unfaithful disrespectful husband. Upon seeing her, the turmoil within ceased, I guess she still had that effect on me, blurring if my use of a sedative or the empath she inspired within now hoped to take it easy on her regardless of the vicious lies. My hand shook nervously upon seeing her face for the first time in two years—it was much easier to say things through text and letters than having her in my eyes that fed into my heart. Talking to her face to face for the first time in over twenty-four months, I placed before her the last page of the letter where she wrote the words.

I love you forever,

Anya

“Can you read that aloud, please.” I asked her, pointing to the words.

“I love you forever.” she complied, her eyes turning away from mine and on Judicial Officer Shamm as they were said.

“Thank you. Did you write that to me?” I pressed. “Is that your writing?”

“Yeah.” she answered dismissively. “Like three years ago.”

“Four years ago.” Interjected Anya’s attorney.

"I had no idea the word "forever" was time sensitive." I remarked.

"Mister Lastman, you're allowed to ask the witness questions--you're not allowed to badger the witness." shot the Judge, the stenographer picking up her pace next to her. "You've been warned."

"I'm sorry, your Honor." I replied, holding back the urge to ask how pointing out the word "forever" wasn't time sensitive was considered badgering.

“Anya, when did I ever threaten to kidnap your kids?” I then asked.

“In October of two thousand and seven.” She replied, again unable to look at me, her eyes moving from side to side.

“If that is true, how come you didn’t put that in your statements when you filed the restraining order?” I pondered. “Wouldn’t a serious thing like kidnapping your children be the first thing you’d include in your statements?”

“Objection, your Honor--irrelevant. My client was sticking to the time period the harassments took place and Mister Lastman’s threat to kidnap the kids happened a year prior to the restraining order.” snapped Anya’s attorney. “In this stack of letters, we brought to the courtroom today, all written and sent by Mister Lastman to my client, we would like to submit this particular one to the court with your permission, your Honor.”

“Sustained. I’ll allow it.” She granted, motioning the bailiff to take the document from Claudine then hand it to her.

The court remained quiet as Judicial Officer Shamm’s eyes scanned the piece of paper, a letter whose content I had no knowledge of. After my two questions appeared to be easily rebutted, I began breaking inside—something seemed off here.

“Your Honor, shouldn’t I have knowledge of all the petitioner’s evidence submitted before the court so I can prepare a response?” I inquired, the stenographer capturing my every word.

She again motioned for the bailiff to retrieve the document from her.

“Please give this to Mister Lastman so he may review it.” she instructed.

The bailiff furrowed his brows, seemingly with skepticism, before handing it to me. My eyes then scanned words I hadn’t seen in over three years.

“I couldn’t sleep last night. Just kept thinking about all you know. Here’s all I know.”

“I want to be with you. I want to wake up with you in my arms every morning. I want to see you every day. I want you to be happy again.”

“I want to tell you “I love you forever” every day. I want to take you out to dinner. I want to hold your hand in public.”

“I want to find traces of u every day. I want to watch a sunset and sunrise with you anywhere.”

“I want to go to the movies with you. I want to watch movies with you. I want to go on vacations with you.”

“I want to see ur smile and hear ur laugh every day. I want to be able to touch you emotionally and physically every day.”

“I want to go dancing with you. I want to go to the gym with you. I want to take showers with you. I want to have tea with you anytime.”

“I want to be on top of the Empire State Building with you. I want to see France with you. I want to go to Tahiti with you. I want to drive up along the coast on the 101 with you. I just want to be with you anywhere.”

“I want to make love to you every day. I want to read a paper with you in the morning. I want to kiss you every day. I want to go to “our beach” when we want to. I want to see you in my favorite blouse.”

“I want to share every beautiful moment with you. I want to see ur size 6 shoes next to mine. I want to share a bathroom countertop with you. I want to kiss you goodbye knowing when I will see you again.”

“I want to see you in the moonlight. I want to cook with you. I want to eat ur cooking. I want u to come “home” to me every night. I want u to never have to delete another text from me.”

“I want to marry you. I want to be your husband. I want to show you this will be a better experience this time. I want to show you what love really is.

Just wanted you to know all I know.”

After “reviewing” my heart's work, one that broke me even further, I handed it back to the bailiff who then returned it to Judicial Officer Shamm. While waiting for her to speak, it felt as if Anya had a second attorney representing her.

“Did you write that to Missus Caiphas?” she asked.

“I did—a little over three years ago.” I responded, nodding.

“I read the entire response to your restraining order.” declared Judicial Officer Shamm before bringing the document up in a digital format on a computer screen, turning it in my direction then scrolling rapidly down. “It’s quite voluminous.”

“Thank you.” I responded, gratefully knowing she had read it. Now, there could be no way Anya’s lies could fall under the radar granting her a restraining order on false pretenses.

“I have one question for you, Mister Lastman.” She announced with conviction in her voice while removing her glasses and leaning over to face me. “It requires only a yes or no response.”

“Sure.” I answered, nodding.

“Did Missus Caiaphas ever ask you to not contact her?”

“Yes, she has asked me not to contact her.” I responded, truthfully.

“And you contacted her anyway?” She retorted, shaking her head.

“I only contacted her in self-defense, your Honor.”

“In self-defense?”

“Yes, my contact was in response to her sending me something in the mail and again when she threatened me with the restraining order.” I explained, trying to fight off the sedative’s sudden death, making me irritable. “I felt the need to respond to get some answers and defend my position.”

“Mister Lastman, do you understand what you’ve done is considered by law to be an act of violence against Missus Caiaphas?”

“An act of violence?” I repeated, stunned by her revelation. “By defending myself verbally? I don’t understand how that can be considered an act of violence when I never cursed at her nor threatened her with bodily harm--she has no grounds to fear for her safety. Shouldn’t we examine my texts to her in full context to determine their intended nature? I can assure you violence was not the goal. If anything, moving on was--as stated in my response. I even told her that I would no longer contact her because there was no further need.”

“The content of the texts does not matter.” she cut me off. “She asked you not to contact her, and you contacted her.”

“Your Honor, I was in a very serious relationship with her for two years. So serious my life was at stake.” I broke, feeling uneasy within, my palms suddenly moist. “Not for two days, or two weeks, or even two months, but for two years. We talked about marriage. Having a baby. She even told me she wanted to wear my ring. She even encouraged me to fight for her. I should at the very least have a first amendment right to a reasonable emotional response.”

“Your Honor, we would also like to present this to you.” Interrupted Claudine Courtney, picking up a white envelope then showing Judge Shamm. “It’s something the defendant sent to my client after the restraining order was filed.”

“Can you tell the court, Missus. Caiaphas, what was in the envelope he sent you?”

“A heart pendant.” Announced Anya, her voice sounding robotic.

At this point, the justice system I believed in to get to the truth began taking on a different identity all its own that threatened to turn violently against me--by design.

“Mister Lastman, did you send her a heart pendant?" Probed Judge Shamm “After she told you she was filing a restraining order and asked you not to contact her?”

“Your Honor, Anya actually sent me the heart pendant, but I returned it to her husband because she wrote me a nasty letter after I asked about its meaning.” I elaborated, the sweat from my palms now on the table before me. “I’m not sure if he actually received it or if Anya intercepted it.”

“I can’t believe anything you’re telling me.” She stated, shaking her head before putting her glasses back on.

“I’m telling you nothing but the truth, your honor. Is her right hand more trustworthy than mine?”

“Did you mail all those items to her home?”

“Yes, your Honor.” I admitted, nodding. “I did.”

“That is also considered an act of violence, Mister Lastman!" she yelled, her fist pounding the table. "That's mail fraud!"

“How so, your Honor?” I asked. “Her husband got into my Facebook and stalked me for two years—my actions served a legitimate purpose. I never threatened to physically harm anyone—it was all done in self-defense.”

“Do you have evidence of him being in your Facebook account?” Inquired Judge Sham. “Did you file a police report?”

“Um…well…no.” I stumbled. “Anya told me he saw what was written on my Facebook account and confronted her about our relationship. All because I didn’t file a police report doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.”

“Mister Lastman, you have only confirmed every single thing this court has asked you.”

“That’s because unlike the petitioner, I’m being honest with the court.” I snapped, looking over at Anya whose eyes were on the floor while Claudine’s bore into mine. “Why are you allowing her to lie in your courtroom? Do you know her?”

Judicial Officer Shamm’s eyes filled with what could only be best described as sheer terror upon what I insinuated—even surprising me.

“Uh…no.” She replied with a noticeable trepidation in her voice.

“I don’t know how responding to a text, the petitioner sent after sending a heart pendant to me then threatening me with a restraining order can be considered an act of violence.” I stated, watching the stenographer at work and upon realizing Judicial Officer Shamm never read my response to the restraining order at all. “Your Honor, why aren’t you considering any of the untruthful and misleading statements made by the petitioner that I clearly addressed in my response to the court?”

“Mister Lastman! The violence doesn’t have to be physical to be considered a violent act!” She yelled. “If you ever insinuate again that this is a dishonest courtroom, I will hold you in contempt! Am I clear? Do you understand, Mister Lastman?”

At this very moment, I knew there would be no justice in this courtroom today. Learning that the state of California wasn’t beholden to the United States Constitution and its bill of rights, notably the first amendment, left me defenseless. Although I was fine with a loss, I never expected it to go this way, that lies were easily protected and the truth didn’t seem to matter, even as a defense. When I compared both Judicial Officer Shamm and Judicial Officer Cordon’s application of the law on this day, it revealed why this was all done in a private setting. If Jackson couldn’t provoke me, the court would do his dirty work for him. This was all a set-up to put me behind bars—to wreck my life and they were all in on it. When I remembered my mother’s words about being held in contempt, knowing how much it would destroy her for me to sit in a prison cell, maybe not being able to say good-bye to her if she passed, I shut my mouth, taking the weight of the cross upon my lost and broken soul.

“Actually Mister Lastman, with your testimony I have enough to have you arrested and put in jail right now! Do you understand the seriousness of your violent crimes?”

I nodded at her, not with fear for myself, but fear for my mother.

“Look at these letters. I see ten of them here; all nothing more than a voluminous collection of nonsensical ramblings!” Roared Judicial Officer Shamm, even prompting the stenographer to shake her head at me. “Then there’s these ‘All I Know’ texts you sent that can only be defined as the anthem of a stalker. These texts alone are not only considered an act of violence, but also a criminal act! You are completely psychotic! Do you understand the victim wants nothing to do with you? Do you understand the victim does not love you? That she doesn’t want to hear from you ever again? I’ve had jury trials for murderers and read their guilty verdicts as they sat in the same exact seat you’re sitting in today, but never, never have I in all my years behind the bench, have I sentenced a convicted murderer whose mind was as out of touch with reality as yours!”

I knew if I defended myself, I’d be thrown in jail without a doubt—there was something terribly wrong about all of this. I’d then lose the only thing I had left, my CPA license, even though that was pretty much worthless anyway. The sad thing was, Judicial Officer Shamm wasn’t completely wrong—for a man like myself, to believe in love, was truly psychotic. I really didn’t fit into society. By letting Anya into my heart, to care about her happiness more than my own, was not the act of a decent human being but the act of an insane one. Any person in today’s day and age who was willing not only to risk it all but lose it all, was a psycho. A person better suited for a straitjacket than love. All those words I ever wrote and spoke to Anya, every letter, every text, even every feeling that never found its way outside my head to be formed into words, were all things I never had a right to feel because Anya was married with children. That all those feelings and emotions for Anya, truly experienced for the first time in my life, even encouraged and allowed by her, were never really supposed to be felt at all. And if I couldn’t feel them for her, they would never be worthy of being felt for anyone else. Judicial Officer Shamm’s unfeeling words were just the echoes of our society. Not only did this day bring the death of the justice system I always believed was fair, but also the death of love in my heart forever.

“Now I don’t condone what she did to her poor husband, but I should really have you arrested for what you’ve done, Mister Lastman; the violence you have perpetrated upon this poor woman. A mother no less. Her husband and kids--her entire family.” She expounded with fire in her eyes, continuing her assassination of my belief in love. “Missus Caiaphas, did your kids witness the contents of Mister Lastman’s package when it was opened?”

“Yes, they did. They were both there.” She replied.

When Anya confirmed Katie and Andrew had seen the gifts, seemingly learning their mother had been in a relationship with another man other than their father, it killed me inside. When I thought of them seeing her bra, it made me cringe wishing I could’ve held myself back from adding it to the box. Although I hoped it would infiltrate the Caiaphas compound, I just never believed it would be seen by them. Unfortunately, that hurt Anya as much as it hurt Jackson.

“Mister Lastman, you are hereby ordered to not contact, directly or indirectly, and to stay away from Missus Caiaphas, her husband, Jackson, their son, Andrew and their daughter, Katie for the next five years. If you break this order, you will go to jail. Do you understand, Mister Lastman?”

“I understand.” I replied, while in complete disbelief it was for a five-year time period—the most severe.

“Your Honor, we would also like the court to also not allow the defendant to contact two of her friends by adding both to the protective order.” Interrupted Anya’s attorney. “He has been harassing them.”

“That I will not grant.”

“Okay, your Honor.” Claudine quickly complied.

“Once again, this is a five-year restraining order that begins today, October twenty second, two thousand and eleven, and will expire at twelve a.m. on October twenty third, two thousand and sixteen. Mister Lastman, you are not allowed to leave this courtroom for thirty minutes after Missus Caiaphas leaves. If you leave a minute sooner, you will be taken into custody. Is that understood?”

“Yes.” I replied, nodding with my eyes fixated on Judicial Officer Shamm, fighting back the swelling rage from all the inequity. “Your honor.”

As Judicial Officer Shamm rose from the bench and exited, I grabbed my black binder and looked for another place to sit down. I was then escorted by a young blonde haired female bailiff to my seat in the back of the courtroom and away from Anya and her attorney. She actually looked like she spent more time on movie sets than in a courtroom. After guiding me to where I should sit, she then spoke.

“Remember, if you contact her, you will be put in jail.” she reminded me, an apparent attempt to provoke me into a reaction—the one Judicial Officer Shamm hoped for on this day to put me behind bars.

As Anya began her exit from the courtroom, with her attorney in tow, she was sobbing. I wanted to believe her tears were for us, or even for me, but after she obtained such a severe restraining order on false pretenses, I knew better than to believe that. Knowing this would likely be the last time we'd ever see each other, there was no way to hold back the greatest undeniable truth my life ever thrusted me into.

“God is the real judge, Anya!” I yelled out, unconcerned about the consequences of doing so.

She then stopped, along with her attorney, and looked at me incredulously for a moment before walking out of the courtroom and my life.