ROOMS OF EXPERIENCE - Act 2

After the death of Teddy Wells is initially treated as a possible suicide, police discover clues that suggest something more deliberate. Ada, his 89-year-old mother, makes a quiet but startling confession. She took the life of her adult, nonverbal, autistic son, not in a moment of panic, but with intention, care, and love. Detective Curtis brings her in for questioning. Despite her age and fragile appearance, Ada doesn't waver. She admits what she did and insists she was fully aware. Alexis Martinez, a sharp and compassionate attorney and former ADA, is brought in by Ada's friend and neighbor Gina to defend her and quickly moves to suppress the confession. But Ada, dignified and unwavering, stuns everyone when she calmly insists, I want to have a trial. Not to escape punishment, but to explain why. At the DA's office, Dana Jeffries is handling the case. She's ambitious, polished, and eager to prove herself. Harvey, her boss, makes it clear. This is a political hot button, and she's been chosen as the public face because she looks good and plays by the rules. It's not about justice. It's about optics. Still, Dana accepts the challenge, supported behind the scenes by her longtime loving boyfriend, Ethan. As Dana steps into Ada's reality, her black-and-white worldview begins to blur. The haunting truth of what life was like for Ada, alone for decades with a nonverbal child who was completely dependent on her, throws Dana off balance. The burden of judgment is now hers to carry, and it's heavier than she imagined. It's not just about law now. It's about meaning, legacy, and the right to define your own story. What looked like a straightforward mercy killing becomes something deeper and messier, a public courtroom battle over the meaning of caregiving, autonomy, and dignity. Interior Dana's house. Foyer. Night. Dana closes the front door behind her, sets down her briefcase. The sound of laughter floats in from the living room. Interior Dana's living room, continuous. Dana enters to find Ethan with two other couples, Izzy and Marshall and Corey and James, all in their 30s. They stand and chat, drinks in hand. Appetizers and plates adorn the coffee table. Everyone lets out a cheer at the sight of Dana. Yay! Hold on one second. There's only five of you in the room. 11 of you that cheered. That might have been too many people. Everyone lets out a cheer at the sight of Dana. Ethan walks over to give Dana a kiss. There you are. I totally forgot. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I'm late. I'm sorry I'm late. They move into the group. Martin hands Dana a glass of wine. Not to worry, darling. We all know how hard you work. The least the slacker can do is keep us entertained in your absence. Interior Dana's living room. Later. The three couples sprawl on the sofas, board games on the coffee table, along with dirty plates and half-empty glasses. They finish a game of cards against humanity. Okay, final round. What gets better with age? Oh, you mean beside you, huh? Ooh, nicely played. No, I just don't age, period. It's true. I mean, she's been 29 for, what, six years now? Izzy gives Marshall a playful backhand. Everyone looks through their cards, reads their answers. an ice pick lobotomy pretty teens Jennifer Lawrence Izzy gives Marshall a look what? he shrugs okay Ethan what gets better with age? full frontal nudity ew I was saving that one Dana finish this off not funny it's the only card I have left yeast Dana and Izzy grow The men laugh. The laughter dies off. I know, not funny. But kind of true, actually. Who won, Izzy? Who always wins? Ethan, of course. Corey raises his glass to Ethan. Everyone else claps. Always the nice ones you have to look out for. Ethan feigns being hurt. Who, me? Dana gathers up the cards. The guests finish their drinks, stack plates and glasses, retrieve their belongings. Dana stands with Ethan to see their guests out. Marshall pats Ethan on the back. Another fantastic evening, my brother. Izzy gives Ethan a kiss on the cheek. Ethan, you are the best host. You too, Dana. Ethan, thanks again for the auction items. That training camp experience is going to fetch a pretty penny. Oh, I'm happy to do it. All I did was make a call. Well, I appreciate it. We'll see you both there. Where was that? Remember, hon? The gala for Alzheimer's in honor of Corey's dad? It's next weekend. That's right. Yeah, of course. Sorry, it depends on where the trial's at, but I hope so. Me too. Hugs and goodbyes all around. Ethan waves as he closes the door after all the guests make their way out. Interior Dana's bedroom. Night. Dana and Ethan sit up in bed. Dana rubs lotion on her legs. That was a fun evening. Yeah. What? Your friends don't really like me. They just tolerate me because of you. What? Babe, why would you say that? Besides, they're your friends, too. No, not really. I gained them by default. And you knew them before you met me. I mean, if you and I weren't together, they wouldn't still be my friends. Like, nobody likes lawyers. He grabs her, pulls her onto the bed. Well, I do. He kisses her neck, tries to get her in a good mood. In fact, let me show you how much I like lawyers. This one in particular. They kiss more intently. He moves his hand up her thigh. She rolls over to get up. I just, hold on. He tries to keep her in bed. She squirms out of his embrace. Oh, come on. It'll be okay just this once. Just leave it. No, I'll be right back. She heads to the bathroom. You know, it wouldn't be the end of the world. He flops back on the bed, groans. Exterior, Ada's backyard. Day. Ada sits at the patio table, a thick plastic-covered book open in front of her. She gazes out at the garden where adult Teddy, a figment of her imagination, expertly tends to the plants. He is tall and broad, with an innocent open face. Soft brown curls dance in the light breeze. Teddy turns to her, holds up a perfect red ripe tomato. I don't know how you do it, Teddy. Every year they're better than the last. He beams at her. Ada? I'm outside, dear. There you are. Is someone here? I thought I heard you talking. Just getting some fresh air. Thinking about Teddy. Gina gives her a squeeze. Sees the book on the table. Is this his baby book? Yes. May I? Of course. Gina sits next to her, flips through the book. Such a handsome boy. Do you think about having children? I used to, but I have endometriosis and couldn't get pregnant. I think that's why I became a teacher. I get 30 new children every year. Well, I'm sorry. so many expectations around being a woman, being a mother. Yes, there are. That's why my husband left after only a year. He knew I couldn't ever give him the son he wanted so badly. That wasn't your fault. He didn't see it that way. Ada puts her hand on Gina's. They look through the book together. That's the only photo. Teddy's father ever took with him. He tried to distance himself as much as possible. I couldn't give him the son he wanted, either. Close on a photo of young Ada seated with baby Teddy, an unsmiling man stands behind them. We were more alone when he was here than after he was gone. What happened? unless it's too painful to talk about. There's nothing that can hurt me anymore. Jack, my husband, blamed me just like the doctors did. He said I babied Teddy too much and that he needed to start acting like a normal kid or else I was afraid Jack might hurt him, especially after he'd been drinking. One day, Teddy woke from a nap, screaming. He screamed for hours. Nothing I tried would make him stop. Jack flew into a rage, yelling he couldn't take it anymore. And that it was Teddy or him. I guess he could tell by the look in my eyes what my choice was. So he left. never came back. I hated him for a long time until I realized I didn't have the energy for it anymore. Sometimes I even felt sorry for him. I can only imagine what he experienced in the war just to come home to another. Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay with me? Teddy sits beside Ada, puts his head close to hers. She smiles. No, thank you, dear. I'm all right here. Okay. I'll check in on you a little later. I've got lasagna in the oven for dinner. I'll bring some over. Mmm, that sounds wonderful. Thank you. Takes Gina's hand. You do such a beautiful job taking care of others. There's more than one way of being a mother. Gina gives her a hug. Interior office of the district attorney, Day. Dana enters from the street, walks towards her office with a paper takeout bag. Her assistant runs up. Dana! The Emmy called while you were out, says he's got 15 minutes for you if you can get there before one. Dana checks her watch. Uh, here, enjoy. Hands the bag to her assistant, heads back the way she just came. Interior medical examiner's office, day. Dana sits across from the medical examiner, flips through the report. What exactly is asphyxiation by helium? Breathing in pure helium deprives the body of oxygen. If the body is unable to take in oxygen, it starts to die within minutes. Helium speeds up this process. When the gas fills the lungs, it creates a diffusion gradient that washes out the oxygen. In other words, each time the body breathes in helium, more oxygen is sucked out of the system. The body's oxygen level can plummet to a hazardous level in a matter of seconds. Could Teddy Wells have killed himself this way without any assistance? It is possible for someone to perform death by asphyxiation unassisted, but given Mr. Wells' substantial development disabilities, it's highly improbable he would have been able to do this by himself, or even agree to it. So definitely homicide. Yes. The curious thing is, though, Helium is nearly undetectable in toxicology probes. Meaning? One more time. Toxological. Toxological. Toxicological. Toxic-toxicological. Why did you write such words? You were going to say toxicology. So, definitely homicide. Yes. The curious thing is, though, helium is nearly undetectable in toxicological probes. Meaning? Meaning if the defendant hadn't left the hood and the tubing out, I wouldn't have checked specifically for helium. With no signs of visible trauma on the body and no determinable cause of death, I wouldn't have ruled it a homicide. She could have walked, so why does she confess? Dana breaks the examiner's gaze to look back at the report. Interior police station, front desk, day. Dana approaches the desk sergeant, flashes her credentials. I'm looking for Detective Raymond Curtis. Is he available? Interior Robbery Homicide Office. Day. Detective Curtis greets Dana. Ms. Jeffries, how can I help you? Hello, Detective. I'd like to see the interrogation tapes for Ada Wells, please. Of course. This way. Motions for her to follow. Interior Detective Curtis' cubicle. Day. Dana and Detective Curtis sit at his desk, a laptop open in front of them. You looking for anything in particular? Honestly, I don't know what I'm looking for. She watches the screen. I didn't want him to suffer. Were you trying to make it look like a suicide? She presses pause, faces the detective. The ME told me he wouldn't have checked for helium if she hadn't left the equipment out. It wouldn't have been ruled a homicide. She could have gotten away with it. It didn't appear she was trying to get away with anything, though. She didn't try to hide it at all. She gave us permission to enter and search the home. The hood, the tubing, everything was in plain view. Her fingerprints were clean, no attempt to wipe anything off. Would you find her guilty if you were on the jury? I'm a police officer. Well, that isn't an answer. I known Alexis Ms Martinez a long time I was close with her brother growing up played ball in school I worked with her when she was in your position Which means what exactly She's good people. She only takes cases she believes in, and that's why she didn't last at the DA's office. In all my years assessing murder suspects, Mrs. Wells' actions indicate she didn't believe she had done anything that needed to be covered up. So, I'm guessing the defense is arguing capacity. They are. He shrugs as if to indicate he agrees. I think I just struck you from my witness list. Gives her a sympathetic look. Interior Dana's office, day. Dana takes a bite from a sandwich, studies a brief. Harvey breezes in with Alexis. Dana swallows quickly, wipes her mouth, stands up. Look who I found wandering the halls. Twice in one week. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to get your old job back. You'll be the first to know Harvey. Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a meeting. Go easy on this one. I don't want to lose another pretty face. He nods his head at Dana. Leaves. He's a peach, that one. Dana does not respond. Tries to wait her out. Then... Was there something I could do for you? No. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop off our witness list in person. Pulls a folder from her briefcase. Hands it to Dana. Thank you. I plan on reaching out to them. I'm counting on it. They're all more than happy to speak with you. I think you'll find what they have to say very enlightening. She makes no move to leave. Well, if that's all. That's all. Have a nice afternoon, Dana. She leaves. Dana peruses the list. Reaches for the phone. Interior State Department of Public Health Building. Day. A staff member leads Dana down a hallway to an office, shows her inside. Mrs. Macario, 60s, wears an American flag pin on her lapel, stands and greets Dana, offers her a seat. I thank you for seeing me. I know it can be awkward talking to the other side. Not at all. I've testified on both sides. Facts are facts. What questions can I answer for you? You've been deputy director for the Center for Healthcare Quality for how long? 38 years. This year will be my last. Congratulations on your retirement. Thank you. What exactly is the role of the center? We play a critical role in the protection of patient safety by evaluating health facilities, agencies, and professionals for compliance with state laws and regulations in order to license, certify, or register them. Dana smiles at her, tries to win her over. You've said that a few times, I guess. Indeed. We also investigate complaints, compliance with federal laws and regulations, oversee the education, training, and criminal clearance of nursing home administrators, assistants, and home health aides. The abuse cases are the hardest part of the job. I would imagine. How many complaints do you receive on average? Around 6,000 a year. Physical and sexual abuse, sometimes patient to patient. Inappropriate use of restraints, medical or basic needs, neglect, patients going without food or lying in their own waste for days. That's concerning. It's criminal. Most of the victims are not physically or mentally capable of speaking up or defending themselves. So if there aren't any living relatives to monitor their care, the abuse can go unchecked for years. With budget cuts year after year, it's just not possible for us to reach every facility on a regular basis. It's sad to say, but the defendant's fears of her son being abused in an institutional setting were not unfounded or unreasonable. In total, how many patients are there in the state? Approximately. A little over 300,000. So, 6,000 out of over 300,000. That's less than 2%. 2%? Spoken like a true lawyer. I mean, still, less than 2%. That makes for a pretty small chance of being a victim of abuse, wouldn't you say? Did you know that less than 1% of our nation's military was killed in the Iraq War? No, I didn't. Mrs. Macario turns a framed photo on her desk towards Dana. It is a young man in military dress. Less than 1%. That's a pretty small number, wouldn't you say? Unless, of course, that number included your child. Then that's still too many. I'm sorry for your loss. Thank you for your time. She gathers her belongings, stands to leave. Exterior office of the district attorney, day. Dana exits out onto the street, dressed in running clothes. Takes off towards the surrounding park at a fast pace. Interior Dana's office, day. Dana enters, flushed from her run. Dabs at herself with a towel. Harvey sits at her desk. She startles at the sight of him. Sir. Apologies. Didn't mean to surprise you. Just stop by to see how the case was developing. Things must be going well. You have time to spare. It's running. It clears my head. Helps me think. Well, don't let me impede progress then. He rises, moves towards the door. Thank you, sir. She slinks down in the vacated chair, goes through her messages, Stops, grabs the phone, punches in numbers. Mr. Unger? This is Dana Jeffries from the district's attorney's office. Thank you so much for returning my call. Today would work? Four o'clock, yes. The address is in the file. Thank you. I'll see you then. Dana grabs her gym bag to change clothes and freshen up. Interior Dennis Unger's office, day. Mr. Unger, early 60s, with a kind but tired face, rises to greet Dana. They shake hands. he indicates for her to sit. Mr. Unger, I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me. I won't take too much of your time. I see in the notes you have a brother with autism who lives in a group home. Yes, my twin, Leo. And how long has he been in the group home? This one, four years. There have been other placements? Oh, yes. Well over a dozen, probably closer to 20 now. I'm sorry, did you say 20? Over the past 40 years, my father passed away when my brother and I were only 22. Heart attack. My mother, she couldn't handle Leo on her own. He was too big and too aggressive. She felt incredibly guilty about not keeping him at home, but her health was also failing. The stress was just too much. I'm so sorry. Why was your brother moved so often? Well, every time we'd visit, there would be a new bruise, a missing tooth, sometimes even a cast. The staff would always dismiss the injuries as self-inflicted and tell us they needed to add another medication to the mile-long list he was already taken. Their way of controlling him was by keeping him incapacitated. That's very unfortunate. I would have thought that that kind of mistreatment is isolated or rare. Well, not from what I've seen. Leo has limited functioning and is completely nonverbal. And to be honest, caring for him is exhausting. Many of the staff, they work long, hard hours and a grossly underpaid. It's a recipe for disaster. It's easy to take out your frustrations on someone who doesn't have a voice. Yeah, but surely now, I mean, with all the safeguards and regulations, abuse can't just go unchecked. It's always a concern for vulnerable populations. I know it's hard to believe if it doesn't directly affect you, but you don't think systems fail? Just read the news on any given day. It happens all the time. That lady, the one you're trying to convict, that'll be me in a few years. Facing the same decision she did because I'm the only one left to care about what happens to my brother. He gives her a pointed look. Interior Dana's car, night. Dana parks outside her house, punches a button on her cell. Close on phone in her hand, reads Mom's Cell. Puts the phone to her ear. Sounds of a voicemail greeting come through, then a beep. She hesitates. Ends the call without saying anything. Interior Dana's living room, night. Ethan sits on the couch, watches TV. The front door unlocks. A few seconds later, Dana comes in, still in her coat. She drops her briefcase on the floor, crawls into Ethan's lap, curls into a ball. He turns off the sound on the TV. Tough day? She nods. Mm-hmm. Do you want to talk about it? She shakes her head, curls up even tighter. He nods to himself, loosens her bun, strokes her hair. I'm here. She closes her eyes. Interior, Ada's kitchen. Night. Ada and Alexis sit at the table, folders stacked on one end. Gina clears plates. Ada's looks like it has been barely touched. Are you all done, Ada? Oh, yes, dear. It was wonderful. I just can't eat much. Alexis reaches over, grabs one of the folders. Ada coughs, takes a sip of water, smiles at Alexis. Down to business, then. What happens next? Once jury selection is complete, we'll likely start trial the day or two after. We can go over some of your testimony now if you're up to it. Of course. She continues to cough. Jaina shakes her head at Alexis out of Ada's sightline. Alexis looks at her watch. Oh, I'm so sorry, Ada. I forgot. I have another appointment. We can talk tomorrow. She stands, gathers the folders. That would be... Ada doesn't finish her sentence. Instead, she cocks her head and smiles. Oh, that's a new piece. What do you mean, Ada? Ada stands, moves to the living room. Alexis and Gina exchange looks. Follow her. Interior Ada's living room, continuous. Teddy plays the piano, a virtuoso. Ada takes a seat on the bench next to him, closes her eyes to listen. Alexis and Gina enter, watch her. Ada? Ada continues to listen. Teddy finishes, Ada applauds. She turns toward the women brightly. Oh, such a talent. I often think he could have played at Carnegie Hall, if only... She looks up, sees their concerned faces. Her animation drains away. Well, anyway, thank you for dinner. And for the company. Gina moves to her, puts a hand on her arm. Why don't you relax in your chair? I'll make you some tea. It'll help you sleep. Ah, yes. That sounds nice. Thank you. I'll let you rest then. Good night, Ada. Sleep well. Ada gives a small, tired wave as Gina helps her to the chair. Interior Dana's office, night. Dana sits on the edge of her desk in the near dark, watches the news on a screen on the wall. She looks tired. Jury selection concluded today in the case of the South Pasadena woman Who allegedly suffocated her adult son because he had autism Autism is a neurological condition She lowers the volume as Carter, late 20s, highly efficient but perpetually anxious Enters with a stack of thick files Here are the briefs you wanted Thanks She stays focused on the screen, he glances at it Looks like we made the news Mm-hmm Are you happy with the jury? We'll see It was surprising how many people in the jury pool know someone with a disability. Probably close to 50%, wouldn't you say? Yeah, something like that. There are a lot more disabled people out there than I thought. I guess it's the kind of thing you don't really pay attention to, unless it happens to you. She finally looks at him. I suppose you're right. I guess we're lucky then. Lucky? How so? I just mean it's good that we don't. I mean, well, you know what I mean. She remains silent. Okay, well, if there's nothing else, I'll see you in the morning. He makes a hasty retreat. Interior Dana's bedroom, night. Dana lies in bed in the dark room, stares up at the ceiling. Ethan is sound asleep beside her. She looks over at him, eases out of bed. Interior Dana's home office, night Dana sits down at her desk, turns on her laptop Her fingers hesitate over the keyboard Then she types Close on computer screen as Dana types in Christopher Moreland And hits enter Multiple listings and images pop up Dana scans the results for a moment Then slams the laptop shut Interior Dana's house, foyer, day Dana stares absently at herself in the mirror Chews a nail Ethan enters with a travel mug of coffee. You look great. You got this. She takes her hand away from her face, turns to Ethan with a wand. Wand? Wand? Wand? What was that vowel? Wand? Wand. Wand. She takes her hand away from her face, turns to Ethan with a wand smile. Thanks. He sets the mug down on the hall table, rubs her shoulders. Hey, you're not nervous, are you? You never get nervous, not my gal. Do you think I did the right thing What do you mean Nothing Never mind I gonna be late Thanks for the coffee Gives him a quick kiss on the cheek picks up the mug and her briefcase Exterior courthouse, day. Several dozen people, many in wheelchairs, picket by the front steps. The protesters chant and carry signs that read Remember Terry Schiavo, Compassion and Choices, Voice for the Voiceless, etc. Interior Television News Studio Day. A newscaster is on air. Opening arguments are underway today in the trial of Ada Wells, an 89-year-old woman who took the life of her adult son with autism. Disability rights organizations clashed with pro-euthanasia groups as they picketed outside the courthouse, and emotions were running high. Some protesters were very strong in their views. Intercut Courthouse Television News Studio. I'm the father of a very severely autistic child. We have always gladly taken care of him, and we always will. There is absolutely no excuse for killing an autistic person. Whatever the circumstances, there is no excuse. Period. While others were more undecided. I think the whole story is heartbreaking. Just so sad for everyone involved. caring for someone day in and day out for that many years. I just hope something good can come out of it. Jennifer Carr, an advocate for the right-to-die nonprofit Choices in Dying, spoke to our reporter outside the courthouse. We continue to fight for a time when every citizen of this nation is free to live and die as they choose, according to their own values. This case does not exemplify the usual end-of-life decision for a terminally ill person, so we cannot condone the actions of the defendant. However, we do recognize that suffering is not limited merely to the physical body and can affect one's quality of life as a whole. Now more than ever, we need support systems for our aging population and for people with disabilities to avoid repeats of such tragic events as this. And prosecutor Dana Jeffries from the district attorney's office had this to say. Dana strides up the courthouse steps. A reporter follows, thrusts a microphone at her. Condoning a crime of this nature is a lethal danger to the disabled population. Interior courthouse security checkpoint, day. Ada and Gina pass through the metal detectors, head towards the courtroom. Alexis puts her briefcase on the conveyor belt. Dana pushes through the front door, walks up behind Alexis, places her personal items in a bin. Alexis glances over her shoulder as she removes her jacket. We could have avoided all this. The crowd outside seems to indicate otherwise. Is that what you're concerned about? No, no. What I'm concerned about is what kind of message it sends if we allow people to murder other people with impunity. You know full well it wasn't murder. Call it whatever you want. But either way, he's dead. And if she really wanted what was best for him, she would have given him up. That was the right thing to do. I'm sure that will sound wonderful on the 5 o'clock news. She steps through the detector. Interior courtroom, day. Ada sits at the defense table with Alexis, coughs quietly into a handkerchief. Gina sits in the gallery behind them. Dana and Carter occupy the prosecutor's table. The judge enters from her chambers. All rise. Everyone rises. The judge sits, raises her hand. Be seated. In the matter of the people versus Adelaide Wells, is the state ready to proceed? Yes, Your Honor. Defense? Yes, Your Honor. We will now hear opening statements, beginning with the prosecution. Dana rises from her chair, smooths her skirt, addresses the jury. Euthanasia, mercy killing, assisted suicide. These phrases bring to mind terminally ill patients begging for someone to end their suffering. Despite what you may have heard or seen in the media, this case is not about that. Victim Theodore Wells was not terminally ill, clinically depressed, or tired of living. Yes, he had autism, but that's not a rare disorder without treatment options. By some estimates, one out of every 54 people in this country have it. Look up autism on the internet and you'll find hundreds, if not thousands, of resources, support groups, therapies, all available to help people and their families who live with this common disorder. All the defendant had to do was simply pick up the phone and call one of them. Help was just a phone call away. Does that sound like a hopeless situation to you? Does that sound like a situation so bleak that you would murder your own child? No matter how well-meaning they try to tell you that the defendant's intentions were, the fact is she planned and carried out the murder of her son. The victim's life wasn't worth any less because he had autism, and his mother had no justifiable reason for killing him. Murder is murder, no matter what, and that is what the state will prove. Thank you. She takes her seat. Alexa stands, walks to the jury box, leans in. 65 years ago, autism was a completely misunderstood disorder. So much so that it took Ada Wells nearly 40 years to get a diagnosis for her son. For almost four decades, doctors told Ada that Teddy's condition was her fault. That she had done this to him because she was cold and unfeeling. A refrigerator mother, they called her. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Those doctors, even her own family and friends, told Ada to put her only child in an institution and walk away, forget he'd ever been born. Can you imagine? But Ada would have none of it. Instead, she dedicated her entire life to making sure Teddy knew he was loved and cherished. And she did this with almost no support. She lost her husband, her friends, her entire life as she knew it. turns to give Ada an empathetic look. Ada lived confined within the walls of her home, giving up everything she wanted for herself. 65 years of complete selflessness to protect her child. 65 years. She lets that number hang in the air, then returns to the defense table, squeezes Ada's hand. Will the state call its first witness? The state calls Dr. Martin Kressler. Dr. Kressler steps into the courtroom, takes the witness box. Dana straightens her notes, approaches the doctor. She glances out into the gallery, sees Ethan, who gives her a nod. Interior Dana's dining room, night. The table is set with flowers and candles. The lights are dimmed. Soft music plays. The front door unlocks. Footsteps as Dana enters. Ethan pops out from the kitchen to greet her. Surprise! Surprise! What is all of this? Oh, I just thought I'd give the warrior returning from a battle a much-deserved welcome home. He takes her briefcase, sets it down, gives her a kiss. I didn't know you were going to be there today. Yeah, you seemed like you maybe needed some support. No, I'm fine. I was fine. But thank you. Sit down, relax. Dinner's almost ready. Here, give me your jacket. He removes her jacket, steers her towards the table. She sits, spots the glass of wine in front of her, takes a long drink. Interior Dana's dining room, later. Dana and Ethan are at the table, plates pushed aside. Her shirt is still buttoned up, her hair still pulled back. One wine bottle on the table is empty. Ethan reaches for a second bottle, moves to top off Dana's glass. She puts her hand out to cover it. Oh, not for me. I have to be in court early tomorrow. He gets up, clears the dirty dishes. Speaking of, you feel good about today? You know, I don't like talking about trial while I'm in the middle of it I know, I know, but you're usually so fired up after a day in court Like there's an electricity running through your veins I kind of like it, truth be told He comes up behind her, kisses her neck, unbuttons the top button of her blouse I'm not used to seeing you so low-key Is everything okay? It's just a different kind of case. That's all. He rubs her shoulders. If anything ever happened to you, if you couldn't take care of yourself, how would you feel? What do you mean? Like, would I be upset? Yeah. Yes. I guess that's what I'm asking. Depressed, hopeless, like not wanting to live. Would I still be able to make love to you? He leans down to nibble on her ear. She shrugs him off, turns to face him. I'm serious. He searches her face. You are serious. Pulls up a chair next to hers. Okay, seriously. Life is great. I wouldn't want to die even if things got tough. I think I could live with most things if I was paralyzed or something like that. You wouldn't be depressed? Well, I'm sure I would have low points, but who doesn't? Lots of people live with disabilities and have very productive, meaningful lives. Remember that piece I did last year on the Paralympics? Now, those athletes can do more than most able-bodied people. What if you were mentally disabled? I don't know. I never thought about that before. What level are we talking about here? I wouldn't want to lie around in a vegetative state for years and years, if that's what you mean. I mean, that's why I have a DNR order. What is this about anyway? But at what point do you make that decision to walk away? Like, how long do you try before you just, you give up? I'm not sure. I don't think you can put an absolute on something like that. Everyone's situation is different. You might think you know what you do, but you can't really say until you've been there. I think you're right. One bottle of wine is enough. Come on. Let's go to bed. He stands, takes her hand. She gently pulls it away. I'll be there in a bit. I have some work to finish up. Always work. All right, don't be too long. I might pass out before you have a chance to take advantage of me. Ben's down to kiss her. She looks up at him, grabs his hand. Thank you. For what? For putting up with me. I know it's not always easy. Well, it's not. But it's worth it. You're worth it. He kisses her. Their hands trail as he exits towards the bedroom. She finishes the wine in her glass, contemplates the second bottle, lets out a sigh, and grabs it. Interior courtroom, day. The judge enters from her chambers. All rise. The room comes to its feet, waits while the judge settles herself. There's a sense of expectation in the courtroom. Be seated. In the matter of the people of the state of California versus Adelaide Wells, court is now in session. Counselor, please proceed. The defense calls Ada Wells, shuffling and whispering from the gallery as Gina helps Ada make her way into the witness box. Please raise your right hand. Do you swear or affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? I do. She sits, settles herself. Alexis approaches the witness box. Good morning. Would you please state your full name for the record? Adelaide Marie Wells. Miss Wells? Please call me Ada. Of course, Ada. Can you tell us about your son, Teddy? Yes. Teddy was my first and only child. He was born four weeks early. I always said it was because he knew I couldn't wait for him to get here. My husband, Jack, was stationed in Vietnam at the time, so I drove myself to the hospital. That would be scary, having your first baby all alone. Besides being born premature, were there any other delivery complications? Yes. I was in labor 32 hours. Teddy was a breech birth, and it was very difficult. I always wondered if that might have affected him. How did Teddy's development progress after that? He was meeting some of his milestones at first, sitting up and crawling, but he never babbled, never cooed. He rarely smiled. He never seemed to look at you. It was more like through you. And he was so quiet in the beginning. He would get this faraway look on his face like he was locked away somewhere no one else could get to. Insert exterior Ada's house. Flashback. Young Ada holds one-year-old Teddy in the front yard, points up at the sky. Jack, Ada's husband, sits on the porch, beer bottles around his feet. Look, Teddy. Look at the pretty bird. Teddy does not look. Makes no sound. Don't you see it? It's there, Teddy. It's right there. Look. Jack throws a bottle to the ground, gets up in disgust and goes inside, slams the screen door behind him. Just look, Teddy. Please, just look at the pretty bird. Back to scene Did anyone else notice or comment on Teddy behavior At first my family and friends told me how lucky I was to have such a calm baby until they tried to hold him Teddy would scream and twist away so violently. I thought he would hurt himself if anyone touched him besides me. How was he with his father? Jack was overseas the first year of Teddy's life, But then he was injured in a training accident, so he was discharged from the service and came home. The pain from the accident. He would drink to make it go away. Things were difficult. Difficult how? Insert interior Ada's living room. Flashback. Jack stumbles in the front door, clearly drunk. Little Teddy sits on the floor. Small toys lined in a row in front of him. Jack approaches Teddy, pats him on the head, then picks up one of the toys. Hey, buddy, what are you playing, huh? Teddy screams, repeatedly bangs his ears with his fists. Jack gets in Teddy's face, yells. What the hell's wrong with you? Stop that! He kicks all of Teddy's toys. Teddy screams louder. Young Ada rushes in, scoops up Teddy, attempts to console him. He's not my kid, he's a freak. You made him a freak. He takes a swing at Ada, who ducks. He stumbles and falls. Ada runs out with Teddy. Back to scene. Ada coughs, pours herself a glass of water, takes a sip. Her hand trembles slightly. Finally, Jack left for good. Our friends eventually stopped coming to visit. Family died or moved away. And then Teddy started refusing to leave home. When I tried to take him anywhere, he would bite himself or pull his hair out. So we just stayed in after that. You were so alone, so isolated. How did you survive? What did you live on? A few months after Jack left, the police came to tell me he'd drank himself to death. I started receiving his benefits along with my father's estate. It was enough to get by. What about human contact? Someone to talk to? Ada finds Gina in the gallery, smiles at her. I was blessed to have a neighbor, Ruth, and her daughter, Gina, who looked in on us regularly, brought us groceries. We had a doctor who made house calls, and our pastor, Father Weta, also came by until he got sick and passed away. So in 65 years, you had contact with just four people? But I had Teddy. For every time he was unreachable, he was also a joy. He had a real sense of the earth, loved tending the garden. Sometimes he would lie down on the ground and rub the dirt all over him. I think it made him feel connected to something. He taught himself to play the piano. He could listen to a song on the radio once, then play it back note for note. It was truly a gift. The briefest glimpse of what his life might have been like, if only he... She coughs again, quite uncontrollably. Alexa steps closer to her. Ada, are you all right? Ada nods, still coughing. Several jury members cast sympathetic glances at her. Dana notices. The judge looks at Ada with some concern. I think that's enough for today. Court is adjourned until 9 a.m. Monday morning. People rise, make their way out. Interior Dana's home office, night. Dana, still in court clothes, writes on a legal pad at her desk. Scribbles furiously, drops her head in her hands. Ethan comes in, steps behind her, puts his hands on her shoulders. She startles. Oh! I didn't hear you come in. Still working? It's almost midnight. It is? Mm-hmm. He pulls up a chair across from her, sits down, lifts her legs onto his lap. You haven't even taken your shoes off yet. He slides off her shoes, massages her feet. Hey, hey, hey. She tenses. Relax. She leans back in the chair. They are silent for a moment. Are you all right, Dana? She sits up, pulls her feet away. I'm fine. Why? Well, you've been on edge lately. It's just the case. Do you want to talk about it? With a journalist? No. Oh, it's me, remember? Your boyfriend? And I'm a sports writer. That's not quite the same. You're not sleeping with the enemy. You're right. Sorry. Okay, I have an idea. Why don't we take a break and do something fun this weekend? I don't know. I have a lot of work to do, Ethan. Oh, come on. Just for a few hours. It's my niece's first birthday tomorrow. My sister is having a barbecue. It'll be fun. And it would do you some good to get out for a bit. Just clear your head. Besides, she's my only niece, and we've barely even seen her. She hesitates. He nuzzles up to her. Oh, come on, come on, come on. Just for a little while. We'll have some cold beer, gnaw on some ribs. He leans in, bites her side in a playful manner. She laughs. He takes her face in his hands, looks at her with intent. You know, it's good to hear you laugh. Okay. Okay. You talked me into it. For a little while. I know. I'm hard to resist. I know. He pretends to chew on her again. she shrieks in protest. Stop! Stop! Exterior Rebecca's backyard. Day. Tables and chairs are set up under canopies, balloons, and first birthday party decorations everywhere. One table is piled high with brightly wrapped presents. Rebecca, 30s, Ethan's sister, holds a baby girl, Sydney, dressed in a tiara and a frothy pink dress, talks with an older couple. Smoke rises from a corner of the yard. Rebecca's husband, Kevin, 30s, wears a party hat, flips burgers on a large barbecue grill. People mill about, chat, drinks in hand. Kids run in and around the adults with shrieks of joy. Ethan and Dana enter through the back gate. He carries a huge present. Where's my little rock star? Rebecca turns around. Ethan! Ethan sets the present on the table. Rebecca walks over to greet them. Ethan kisses her on the cheek, takes Sydney from her, kisses the baby all over as she squeals in delight. There she is. Now what on earth has your mother dressed you in, huh? You look like a birthday cake, not a birthday girl. He pretends to nibble on Sydney. Ha ha, she looks adorable. She gives Dana a hug. Dana, I am so happy you could make it. We haven't seen you in ages. I know how busy you are, though. We saw you on television. Such a sad case. Ethan shoots Rebecca a look. Clears his throat. Ah, Rebecca. Oops. Not supposed to mention work. You're here to have fun. Let me get you two a drink. I will be right back. Ethan continues to play with Sydney, catches Dana's eye, grins widely. Dana looks around at the partygoers. Her gaze lands on a family of three. Mother, father, and a little girl, Molly, just beginning to walk. It is apparent that Molly has Down syndrome. She takes a few faltering steps, lands on her bottom, laughs. Molly's parents cheer her on. Rebecca returns with drinks, follows Dana's gaze. Those are our new neighbors. I'll introduce you. Isn't Molly just the cutest? Hands them their drinks. Here you go, my secret Hawaiian punch. Definitely not the kiddie version. Cheers. Now, if Kevin hasn't burned everything, I think we might be ready to eat. Exterior Rebecca's backyard. Later. Guests eat. Talk. Dana and Ethan share a table with Rebecca, Kevin, and Sydney. Molly and her family at the table across from them. Dana glances over repeatedly. Kevin, that wasn't half bad. I think I might need another plate. You know, I feel like he's rubbing his stomach. You know, I think people are kind of exhaling as you're talking. Who's reading Kevin? Nick? You want to throw it at Nick? I'll do it. Go for it. He's a party guy, huh? Yeah. Party hat. All right. He's kidding. So from Ethan's line. Yes. Ah, Kevin, man, that wasn't half bad. I think I might need another plate. I think I might have to join you. They head for the food table. Time to get the cake. Uh, Dana, can you hold her for a second? Without waiting for a response, she hands Sydney to Dana. She's visibly uncomfortable, unsure of what to do. She awkwardly bounces the baby on one knee. Sydney babbles and claps her hands, which catches the attention of Molly, who stumbles her way over to them. Molly reaches Dana and Sydney, stretches out her arms for Dana to pick her up. Dana looks around, ill at ease. Molly's mother comes over. Did you come to make friends, Molly? She picks Molly up, sets her on Dana's other knee. Dana stiffens. The two children interact with each other. Adorable. I have to get a picture. She steps away. Molly turns her attention to Dana, touches her face and hair. Dana's eyes are frozen on hers. Molly's mother returns, snaps a picture with her phone. Say, happy birthday. Ethan approaches, smiles at the sight. Rebecca returns, scoops up Sydney. Dana, who knew you had such a way with kids? Dana gives her a faint smile, hands Molly back to her mother. Excuse me, I need to use the restroom. She hurries towards the house. Interior, Rebecca's house. Bathroom. Day. Dana sits on the side of the bathtub, bent over, her head in her hands. The doorknob rattles. She looks up, calls out. Just a moment! She stands, moves to the sink, finds mouthwash and a paper cup in the medicine cabinet, rinses out her mouth, catches her reflection in the mirror. Her face is ashen. Exterior, Rebecca's house. Driveway, night. Dana gets into the passenger seat of their car as Ethan hugs his sister and niece goodbye. Rebecca makes Sydney blow kisses as the car drives away. Interior Ethan's car, moving, night. Ethan drives as Dana looks out the side window. You've been quiet, you okay? She does not look at him. It's a little too much secret punch. Yeah, it packed the wall up. It was great to see you loosen up for a bit, though. You were so cute with the babies. I think they fell in love with you. She stays silent. He glances at her. I've never really seen you around kids before. What do you think? About what? About having kids. We've never talked about it. She sits upright. Yes. Yes, yes, we did. When we first got together, it was one of the reasons we were attracted to each other. We were both happy with our lives and our careers, and we didn't want to change that. Sure, but that was what we wanted then, but that was a few years ago. People can change their minds. I haven't changed my mind. I'm happy with things just the way they are. So you don't ever want to have kids? And now all of a sudden you do? I don't know, Dana. We're just talking. But maybe there's more to life than working 16-hour days. I like my job. I like to work. Yeah, I know. What does that mean? He pulls into their driveway, shuts off the car. Interior Ethan's car, continuous. Ethan turns to look at Dana. Nothing, it's just... You're so driven by work and only work. Maybe you should take some time to discover other interests. Do other things. Like have a baby. Well, it'd be fun trying. Is that what you want? To have a baby? You're so smart and strong and beautiful. Can't you just imagine what a perfect little baby would make? No, no, I don't want to imagine it. I don't want to imagine it at all. Like, I can't have a baby. What, you mean... You mean you can't get pregnant? We use birth control, so I just thought... I am so sorry. I didn't know that, Dana. He moves to comfort her. She pulls away. I just, I can't have a baby. I can't. And why are you bringing this up now? I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. You just look so beautiful holding those little girls today. It seems so perfect. Just stop saying that. Stop it. Stop it. I had a baby. Do you understand? I had a baby and she wasn't perfect. She wasn't perfect. And I tried and I couldn't do it. Like, I couldn't be perfect. She pushes open the car door, runs inside the house. Interior Dana's house. Hallway. Day. Ethan stops outside the closed door to Dana's office. He knocks gently, then opens the door. Interior Dana's home office, continuous. Dana stands at the window with her back to the door. Ethan looks in. Dana? Can I come in? She doesn't answer or turn around. He takes one step in. You've been in here since last night. There's a pretty big elephant in the room. Can we talk about it? She shakes her head. that's why this case has been so tough for you isn't it why you don't ever talk about your family why you move thousands of miles away why you keep all your feelings bottled inside your baby she shakes her head again slower this time end of act two