My mother tried to interrupt by saying that he was probably a paid actor but the judge shut her down with a look of pure ice. “Sit down, Mrs. Miller, and do not speak again until you are asked a direct question by this court,” the judge commanded.
Jim went on to describe the convoy route and the way the sound drops out for a second after an explosion before coming back louder. I could smell the burning rubber and the sand as he spoke while that awful dry chemical taste sat in the back of my throat.
My hand tightened so hard around the courtroom rail that my knuckles began to ache from the sheer pressure of the traumatic memory. Gwen noticed my distress and slid a glass of water toward me while she continued to introduce the medical records and surgery notes.
“Did she ever attempt to use her injuries to gain favor or money from her family to your knowledge?” Gwen asked as her final question. Jim did not blink when he told the court that I had actually hidden my service because I did not want to be treated differently.