Her name was Teresa Ochoa.
She was maybe thirty-five, with a ponytail and a cardigan with the elbows worn thin. Her office was in a strip mall between a nail salon and a tax preparation place. There were boxes of files stacked on every surface and a dying ficus in the corner.
She read Wayne Haller’s petition while I sat across from her desk with my purse in my lap. She read it slowly. Every page. Her mouth got tighter and tighter.
Then she read the affidavit Strand wanted me to sign. And her eyebrows went all the way up.
“Mrs. Bixby,” she said, “do you know if criminal charges were filed against this man?”
“I don’t know anything. The police wouldn’t tell me.”
“Okay.” She pulled her keyboard toward her and started typing. “Give me a minute.”
I sat there and listened to her click. The ficus dropped a leaf on the carpet.
Teresa stopped typing. She stared at her screen for a long moment. Then she turned it around so I could see.
It was a court record. Bell County. The State of Texas versus Wayne Thomas Haller.
Charges: Kidnapping. Violation of a Protective Order.
Status: Pending. Defendant released on bond.
I read it three times, the same way I’d read the lawsuit.
“Kidnapping,” I whispered.
“Mrs. Bixby.” Teresa’s voice was very gentle. “Do you understand what this means?”
“It means I wasn’t wrong.”
“It means you weren’t wrong. And it means something else.” She tapped the affidavit with one finger. “You’re a witness in his criminal case. Your statement. Your photographs. That’s evidence against him. And while he’s out on bond waiting for trial, he’s suing you for $350,000, and offering to make it all go away if you sign a paper withdrawing your statement.”
I felt sick to my stomach.
“He’s trying to scare me,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am. I believe he is.” She leaned back in her chair. “And I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t work.”
She took my case that afternoon. No retainer. No fee. She made me take the affidavit off my refrigerator and give it to her, and she put it in a plastic sleeve like it was a piece of evidence.
“Because it is,” she said.
Then she made a phone call to the Bell County District Attorney’s office. She asked for the victim services division. She asked if they could get a message to the child’s mother.
“What kind of message?” I asked when she hung up.
“Just that there’s a hearing,” Teresa said. “And that the woman who took those photographs is being sued for it.”
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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