Book Excerpt: 'Prison of My Own'

Aug. 28, 2007— -- The double doors to Courtroom A on the fifth floor of the Cuyahoga County Courthouse opened. Mr. Ghazoul, my ex-husband's attorney, nodded toward me. I stood, smoothing the lines of my navy blue dress rumpled from hours of sitting, waiting, and wondering when I would ever awaken from this nightmare.

Ghazoul had met me that morning after I arrived in Cleveland from Florida. He took me to a hurried lunch in a cafe across from the courthouse to review what I was to say on the stand. With only minutes to spare before John's trial was to resume, he gobbled a ham and Swiss on rye and explained my husband's chances. The odds were severely stacked against him. And I was the strength of his entire defense -- me, the unsuspecting wife on the other end of Carol Roman's ill-fated phone call. He wanted emotion. It was a non-jury trial, so I only had to win over Judge Griffin, who was known for his compassion. I had to bare my pain, speak from the heart if my children's father was to be spared from a life behind bars. But I entered the hushed courtroom completely devoid of emotion. I took my place in the witness box where I was sworn in with my left hand on the Bible.

"Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Truth. … Did I even know the meaning of the word anymore? There had been none in my marriage since John's affair with this girl started two years ago. The man that I loved and shared a bed with every night turned our life into a complete lie. My gaze shifted to John as he sat next to his other court-appointed attorney, Mr. Markstrom. John had lost so much weight that he looked skeletal. I realized he was wearing the gray suit I'd bought him for Christmas, but it was baggy and hung on him as if he were a young boy in his daddy's clothes. The thirteen months in county jail waiting for trial had changed him. The man I married was handsome and athletic with stunning blue eyes, but in his place sat someone I barely recognized, a gaunt and broken soul who had orchestrated his own destruction. He slumped over, clutching a wadded tissue as he wept.

"Ma'am?" The bailiff waited for an answer.

"I do." All eyes were on me as I settled into the witness box. I could hear the judge writing on a legal pad. I wondered if anyone else had caught the irony of my last two words, the same words that began my marriage fourteen years ago to the man seated in front of me now began the testimony that could save him from life in prison.

Mr. Ghazoul approached me with a soft smile, trying to put me at ease. "Hello, Diane. Please tell the court your relationship to the defendant."

"I'm John's ex-wife." The words echoed through the microphone in front of me.

"How long were you married to the defendant?"

"Thirteen years."

"And do you have children from this marriage?"

"Yes, two daughters, ages four and eleven."

"What are their names?"

Girls, what I'm going to tell you is very hard to understand. Something terrible has happened, and Daddy won't be coming home. He's okay, though. You don't have to worry about him. But he got in a fight with someone and hurt that person very badly. He has to stay in jail for a very long time, and now it's going to be just the three of us.

I blinked back the memory of our children's bewildered tears. That August day was more than a year ago, yet the sounds, smells, and pictures still played in my head as if it were just yesterday.

"Vanessa is our eleven-year-old, and Mariah just turned four."

"Where did you reside with your husband and the two children?"

Our home was so perfect for us. The neighborhood was full of other young families and many playmates for the girls. We could look out our window and see a deer grazing or squirrels at play in the woods in back. The house was spacious with a fireplace where John and I used to cuddle and savor our quiet time together. We had the life we'd always dreamed of. He always asked me how he got to be so lucky.

I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat. "Twinsburg, Ohio."

"And how long did you live there before this event took place?"

"A little over two years."

"Do you still live in Twinsburg, Mrs. Nichols?"

"No. After John's arrest, we moved to Florida to be with my family. We lived with my parents for a couple of months, and then they bought us a small house in their neighborhood. They've been a really big help to us."

He waited a beat. "Would you have described your marriage as a happy one, Mrs. Nichols? Can you give the court an idea of the sort of husband John was?"

The room fell silent. I didn't want to answer that question. How could I describe the perfect love we shared, when that same man was on trial for the murder of his mistress?

"He was all I ever wanted in a husband. He was my best friend. My soul mate. My lover. Our marriage grew better with every year instead of going stale like so many do. We had something very rare and special. We were as close as two people could be." I realized how pitiful I must have sounded and dropped my gaze to my lap.

"And was he a good father to your two daughters?"

I nodded. "He was their world. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them. He was the first to diaper both of our babies, he walked the floor with me during the early morning feedings, he played with them, took care of them whenever they got sick, went to school functions, and always made time to simply hug them and say he loved them. He was the best father I could have ever imagined."

Ghazoul paused to examine his notes. A clock ticked loudly from the far wall. I didn't know where to look so I focused on the marble floor, wishing my testimony was over. He slowly walked back and impaled me with a dark somber gaze. It was time to leave happy days behind.

"When did you first hear the name Carol Roman?"

I could still see the headline of The Plain Dealer on the morning after the shooting:

Wal-Mart Manager Murders His Secret Lover.

A suffocating sensation made it hard to find my voice as I forced out my answer. "The newspaper story that came out the next day. That was the first time I ever knew her full name."

"Tell the court how the woman you came to know as Carol Roman devastated your life."

The prosecutor jumped to his feet as if he had suddenly been jabbed by a pin. "Objection, Your Honor! Leading the witness."

Ghazoul drew a breath of annoyance. "I'll rephrase it. Did you ever have any encounters with this young lady named Carol Roman?"

"Young" was an understatement. Her obituary said she was only nineteen. John was old enough to be the girl's father. How could he have had sex with her? I swallowed the acid taste in my mouth.

"Yes. She used to make prank phone calls to my home. She tormented me that way for many months."

"Describe these calls for us, if you can."

Who is this? Why do you keep calling me? Why don't you say anything? I know you're there … I can hear you breathing. What is it that you want with me

My hands, hidden from sight, twisted nervously in my lap as I traveled back in time.

John had been hired as assistant manager of the Brooklyn Wal-Mart, where he had the promise of a bright career. It meant long hours and having him away from us most evenings and weekends, but in exchange for his hard work and dedication, he could climb the ladder and make district management level. It was the brass ring that he had always had his eye on.

Three months later, the calls began to come. Nothing was said, but I could sense someone on the other end -- toying, breathing, listening. I'd hang up each time thinking the prankster would get bored and stop. Instead, the frequency of the calls increased, sometimes two or three times a day. I told John about them, but unfortunately, no calls ever came when he was at home. I would beg the caller to tell me what he or she wanted. We finally contacted the phone company and got a caller ID box.