ROOMS OF EXPERIENCE - Act 3

As the case bills momentum, so do Dana's doubts. Every
piece of evidence paints a different picture than the one
in her file, a mother who gave everything, who could
have hidden her crime but didn't, who spent decades trying
to protect her son from a system that repeatedly failed
families like hers. Dana speaks with witnesses who've lived the
same story, caregivers of disabled family members, experts who've seen
institutional abuse firsthand. These aren't just character witnesses for Ada.
They're witnesses to a broken system, a kind of system
Ada feared would swallow her son the moment she was gone.
Act three, Interior courtroom, Day Corta's in session. Ada on
the stand to resume her testimony.
Ada, in your own words, can you tell us what
happened the night of April twenty fourth of this year.
It had been a good day, as close to perfect
a day as could get for us, no miltdowns, no outbursts.
The rain had held off till evening, so Teddy was
able to lie in the garden, feel the sun on
his face.
Insert flashback montage. Teddy lies on his back in the garden.
Ada watches him from the doorway. Ada runs a bath
for Teddy hours bubble bath into the tub. Teddy enters
the bathroom. He wears a robe. Ada brings Teddy a
dish of ice cream. Teddy gets into bed, Ada tucks
him in, sits next to him, checks her watch. Ada
picks up a cloth hood from the nightstand. Ada connects
a tube to the helium tank, turns a valve on
the tank. Ada sits on the bed with Teddy, holds
his hand. Ada checks Teddy's pulse, strokes his hair, and
kisses his cheek. Then lays her head on his chest
and sobs. Ada removes the yellow balloon from a package
and uses the tank to fill it. Back to scene.
Ada, by your own admission, you're telling us you took
your son's life.
Why did you do it?
About a year ago, I read an article about a
woman who lived with her eighty four year old mother,
just the two of them. The woman was deaf, blind,
and mentally disabled. Her mother had taken care of her
for so many years, just like Teddy and me. When
the mother died at home, the woman crawled around on
the floor over her mother's dead body, looking.
For food and water.
Before before she was finally found a week later. She
was so traumatized they had to put her into the hospital.
All I could think.
Was that was that that could have been Teddy, all alone,
unable to even walk out the front door for help.
But Ada, there are State Hospital's residential living facilities. Why
didn't you just find somewhere else for him to go?
Sixty five years Teddy lived in that house with me.
He knew every spot where the floor creaked, exactly how
long it took the toaster to pop up when it
was time to plant the strawberries. That was his home,
his sanctuary. It was where he belonged, where he felt secure,
even happy. How could I take all that away from him?
Her voice breaks, but she keeps going.
Where else in the world would they let him play
piano at two o'clock in the morning if he woke
up from a bad dream. Where would they let him
lie in the dirt and take comfort from the earth.
Where would they.
Hold him and stroke his hair and tell him how
beautiful he was, how truly beautiful?
Where would he be safe?
Where?
Just where is that place? A jerror fumbles for a tissue.
Alexis waits a moment before continuing.
Ada, did you also plan to take your own life
that day?
I did.
What stopped you. I had to tell our story.
I couldn't bear.
Anyone thinking I took my son's life because I didn't
love him, or because I thought he was a burden,
or I was tired of taking care of him, even
when I was exhausted and sad and I couldn't understand
what Teddy needed. Never, for a moment did I ever
wish he wasn't my son.
Tears fall freely down her face.
I'm not saying I never wished he didn't have autism.
I wish that a lot, especially when he was young.
It's only human to feel that way. You never expect
you to have a child with a disability. It catches
you completely off guard, changes the way you think about everything.
I hated watching Teddy's struggle.
He had so much to offer the world and would
never get the chance.
It made me so angry.
It was so unfair. But having Teddy in my life,
even with autism, it's always what I would choose over
never having had him at all. How empty my life
would have been without him.
Ada looks out into the gallery. In the front row,
she sees her twenty four year old self with infant
Teddy in her arms as she coos to him and
lulls him to sleep and brings him to her chest,
kisses the top of his head, breathes deep in contentment.
Alexa steps closer to Ada, puts her hand on the
rail of the witness box.
Ada, On the day you took your son's life, did
you believe at that moment what you were doing was wrong?
No?
Thank you, Ada, No more questions, your witness. She walks
back to her seat. Dana stands, straightened her jacket, steps
around to the front of the prosecution table.
Just so we're perfectly clear, missus Wells, did you kill
your son?
Yes?
And do you believe killing a person is wrong.
Under most circumstances, Yes.
But not in your circumstance because you didn't think your
son could adapt to living anywhere else, a theory which you.
Could have easily tested while he was still.
Alive, but you chose not to without exploring any other options.
You planned and carried out the manner of your son's death.
You murdered your son because you alone decided that your
son's life would be worthless without She.
Exterior at his house day flashback nineteen ninety, Ada in
her mid fifties, stands on the front porch, the door
wide open in the early morning. The air is still,
the street quiet. She motions with her hand, Oh.
Come, come, look, Teddy, it's so beautiful after the rain.
No movement from inside.
Please, Teddy, I promise nothing.
Bad will happen. You're all grown up now you can
do it.
Teddy, around thirty years old, appears in the doorframe.
That's it.
Come see the red bud tree. It's bursting with flowers.
She points towards the front yard. Teddy peers out in curiosity,
but does not step outside.
Please Teddy, just one step. I promise you'll be safe.
I'll be right here with you always.
Teddy hesitates, slides one foot a few inches forward. Suddenly
the stillness is broken by the thudt out of a
newspaper against the wooden port railing. A boy on a
bicycle whizzes down the sidewalk. A second later, an avalanche
of sounds of irregular day, the wail of a siren,
a barking dog, a door slams, a baby cries. Teddy
lets a cry of distress, claps his hands over his ears.
He sinks to the floor, rocks back and forth. Ada
rushes inside interior Ada's front hallway continuous. Ada quickly but
softly closes the door behind her. Teddy, still on the floor,
hits the back of his head against the wall. His
cries of distress continue. Ada, in tears, runs past him,
returns a second later with a well worn but soft
plush blanket. She slides down next to Teddy, rubs the
blanket on his arm and cheek.
I am so sorry. I'm so sorry.
I won't ever ask.
You that again. I'm so sorry, Teddy, I should have
known better. Please forgive me.
I'm sorry. Oh, I'm so sorry.
She rocks with him as she soothes him with a blanket.
Interior courtroom, day Ada looks out, lost in thought and
turns directly to Dana.
All I can say to you, who is Everything I've
done in the past sixty five years was what I
believed to be in the best interest of my son
for our situation.
No one in this room can truly know what that was.
I realize, though, that you still have to judge me
from a place of law or maybe your own personal feelings,
because that's what keeps order and helps you make sense
of something like this. I never thought Teddy's life had
any less worth, any less meaning, because he had autism.
What I it wounded me in a way I could
never make you understand, but I wouldn't change it.
It's all right.
You do what you need to do. It doesn't matter
what happens to me. I just want you to see
we all have our own peace to make in this world,
however we may find it.
Dana is silent.
Counselor no further questions.
The defense rests, your honor.
Does the prosecution wish to call any rebuttal witnesses, Yes,
your honor.
Then we'll resume after lunch. Dismissed. Raps are gavel.
By the way I think.
Them.
When you're ready.
I just didn't want to be discussing, okay.
Interior Courthouse, Attorney conference room day. Gina opens a bag,
takes out food. Alexa sits at the table, reviews notes.
Ada stands at the window, looks down on the crowd
of demonstrators below.
All those years, barely anyone knew I even existed.
Now, look at all the fuss you made people think, Ada,
that's never a bad thing.
Did I ever tell you about Teddy's art.
The drawings in his room.
Oh, to most people, they probably look like nonsense, but
they were his way of expressing himself. They represent how
he saw the world and how he saw himself in it.
I understood that every time something upset him, he would draw.
It's how he worked through it.
The chance of the protests wafted up. Ada gazes out
squints against the bright sun.
But no amount of drawing could ever make the world
a safe place for him. I did try, but I
couldn't make it safe for him either. So making our
home his sanctuary was all I could think to do.
She coughs, gets louder and more insistent. Gina and Alexis
exchange glances. Gina brings Ada a box of tissue.
Here, Ada, why don't you come sit down, have something
cold to drink.
She ushers Ada over to the table in the courtroom.
Day court is back in session.
The state calls doctor Monique Ogden.
Doctor Ogden late forties, stylish appearance, walks with authority, enters
the courtroom, sits in the witness box. The bailiff approaches,
Please raise your right hand, do you square refirm to
tell the truth?
The whole truth and nothing but the truth.
I do your honor, Doctor Ogden is testifying.
As an expert in the field of autism.
Please state your qualifications, Doctor Ogden.
Certainly your honor.
I hold a PhD in childhood development with a postgraduate
work at Harvard School of Medicine. My educational expertise is
in the areas of developmental psychology and developmental psychopathology. I
am the director of the Autism Clinic at the University
of California, Santa Barbara and former co director of the
Marcus Autism Neurodevelopment Center in Atlanta. Additionally, I am a
professor of child in adolescent Psychiatry. I have worked with
children with autism and their families for almost thirty years.
The court is satisfied, doctor Ogden, has I've met the
requirements of Rule seven two. Any objections from the defense, No,
your honor, You may proceed.
Doctor Ogden.
Kid a person with severe autism, such as Theodore Wells,
learn to adapt to a new environment after spending his
entire life in the same house with the same caretaker.
Yes he could, It would take some special consideration. Someone
to get to know him and how he communicates. Before
his mother was gone, along with recreating a similar environment
and routine in his new living space. But it most
certainly could be done. People with low functioning autism navigate
their world almost like a movie with no sound trick.
They don't want their routine broken because they are unsure
how to restore the track. It would take some time,
but with intense therapy, I'm sure it would not only
be possible, but a highly successful transition in which he
could thrive.
Just so I have it straight.
In your expert opinion as it relates to this case,
Theodore Wells could have adjusted to living in a new
home without his mother as this caretaker and lived in
equally fulfilling.
Life in my expert opinion, yes, thank you, doctor Ogden,
your witness.
Alexis smiles in anticipation. Dana returns to her table while
Alexis remains seated.
Doctor Ogden, do you work with many older autism patients?
I have worked with them.
Yes, the keyword there was many. Almost all of your
work is with children, isn't that correct?
Children and teenagers.
Yes, you don't have a child with autism, do you?
No?
I do not have you personally as an autism expert. Ever,
come across a case such as this, a man with
severe autism being removed from his only home, his only
family member, after six and a half decades and continuing
to thrive.
I don't have any personal experience with the case exactly
like this.
Have any of your colleagues, I'm not certain. I would
have to check convenient.
How about any case studies read any of those sixty
five years, same home, same caretaker, moved him and he
was fine, anything like that.
There have been some similar situations.
Really similar.
How I've worked with adults with autism after they were
removed from their family homes.
You have how old were these adults?
To my recollection, the oldest was twenty three.
Dana bites the inside of her lip. A low murmur
is heard through the courtroom.
Twenty three. That's not quite sixty five, is it?
Did these patients of yours still have living family members, parents, siblings,
loved ones to visit, monitor their care, take them home
for visits and holidays.
I'm not sure.
You're not sure. Weren't these your patients?
Doctor objection asked and answered.
I'll allow it.
Please answer the question, doctor, reflecting back, Yes, they had
family who visited, so.
Even with all your expertise, you can't say with any
degree of certainty that Teddy Wells would have been just fine.
You can't say that he wouldn't have been utterly traumatized
by the sudden upheaval in his life, unable to respond
or communicate.
In any meaningful way.
You don't know, because you've never come across a single
case study even remotely like Teddy's.
Have you?
I can't say definitively, but based.
On Alexa stands, leans across the table and interrupts the
doctor with force.
Just answer the question yes or no?
Doctor, do you have any actual experience with the case
as extreme as this?
No, Alexis gives a dismissive wave of her hand sits
back in her seat.
That's what I thought. I'm through with this witness redirect.
No, your honor, you may step down, doctor Argudon.
She quickly leaves the courtroom. Dana does not look at her.
Does the State wish to call any further witnesses?
The State rests, your honor.
Courts journed. We will reconvene at nine am tomorrow for
closing arguments.
The judge wraps her gavel. People gather their belongings and
file out. The noise level rises. Dana stays seated. Carter
speaks to her, but she isn't listening. She notices Ada
looking at her and holds her gaze and turns away
when she realizes Carter is talking. Exterior Dana's car moving night.
Dana drives slowly down a residential street. She stops in
front of Ada's house turns off her lights. Interior Dana's
car night. Dana stares at Ada's house. Light shines from
a front window. Ada appears at the window, looks out
into the night. The house goes dark. Dana sits for
a moment and drives away. Interior cor day. The room
is packed, everyone in position except the judge. People fan themselves.
Dana dabs discreetly at her forehead and upper lip with
a tissue. Ada does not look well. The judge enters
takes her seat. All rise, the cord is noun such.
Everyone rises.
Good morning, he settled. As there are no more witnesses,
we will proceed to closing statements, beginning with the prosecution.
Are you ready to begin, missus jeffries.
Dana remains standing as the rest of the room sits.
Yes, Your honor.
Dana turns to address the jury.
Ada Wells committed murder. She told you so, right here
in this very courtroom. She searched the internet, gathered the
equipment she needed, selected the day, and killed her son.
And no matter what the reasoning was behind it, no
matter how sorry you may feel for her and what
she has been through in her life, remember that she
had a choice, and that choice was murder her. When
you cut through all the emotion, all the heartbreak, you're
still left with murder, plain and simple, and that is
what you must find Ada Wells guilty of.
Thank you.
She steps back as Alexis comes around the defense table.
Some Buddhist teachings justify taking human life on the grounds
of compassion in dire circumstance. One text says taking life
is unreprehensible when it develops from a virtuous thought.
Ada's only thought was.
That her son should die at peace, in the only
place and what the only person he'd ever known, comforted
and secured in her love, rather than lost and confused
alone amongst strangers. There was no malice, no deceit, no
attempt to cover up what she had done, because there
was no crime committed on the day Ada took Teddy's life,
she believed fully and completely that what she was doing
was not wrong. In her mind, she was taking care
of her son, just as she always had. John Steinbeck wrote,
there are those among us who live in rooms of
experience that you and I can never enter.
Ada Wells lived with her son in such.
A room, a room where none of us have ever been,
for sixty five years, not because she had to, not
out of obligation, but out of love. And her final
act for her son was out of love too.
She takes a moment to let that connect, returns to
her seat.
Ever rebuttal your honor, the.
Judge nod Stana Stands steps right up to the journey.
I don't think anyone here doubts that Ada Wells loved
her son.
That's not in question.
But Ada Wells isn't on trial for loving her son.
She is on trial for killing him. Ado Wells thought
her son would be better off dead if she were
not around to take care of him, but that was
not her decision to make.
Sorry, Ada Wells is on trial for not loving.
For great I don't think anyone here doubts that Ada
Wells loved her son.
That is not in question.
But Ada Wells isn't on trial for not loving her son.
She's on trial.
For killing him. Aide Well thought her son would be
better off dead if she were not around to take
care of him, but that was not her decision to make.
Missus Wells had cared for her son all by herself,
and maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe by
not seeking out others to share her burden, she in
fact created the very situation she felt she only had
one solution, killing her own son. Missus Wells told us
there was no one else, no family, no one who
would care for Teddy as she did.
And you know, and maybe in the first few.
Years of Teddy's life that was true, But now there
are numerous organizations, agencies, schools, therapy centers, assisted living facilities.
Any number of these places would have taken Teddy in,
given him the care and attention he needed, and even
given her some of her life back in the process. Sadly,
Ada Wells had no trust, no faith in these systems
based on what her intuition.
Sweeps her arm in AIDA's direction.
And that gave her the right to decide her own
child would be better off dead and perhaps if she
had just let go of struggling alone and simply asked
for help, none of us would be here today. I
have no doubt it was frightening for missus Wells to
think of leaving her son to the care of strangers.
But where then, do we draw the line?
At what point do we make the distin of whether
or not a life is worth living?
Worth continuing?
Takes a quick breath, keeps going.
We talk about quality of life as though it takes
a certain amount of it for life to be justified.
Teddy Wells had music, he had art, he had his garden,
and by AIDA's own account.
He was happy.
This is a life that had value. Don't you think
if Teddy could have spoken, he would have said the same?
Be his voice and return with the verdict of guilty.
She sits down the judge's instructions to the jury. Drone
in the background. Exterior Dana's office.
Day.
Dana stands on the doorway, glances around at her books,
her degree, her pictures. She walks to her desk, opens
a bottom drawer, sifts her hand through the collection of
unopened letters. Interior Dana's home office.
Night.
Dana sits at her desk in near darkness, still in
work clothes, but for once they are wrinkled and in disarray.
A spot of light from a lamp illuminates one of
the colored envelopes, open with a letter and small picture
next to it. Ethan pokes his head in. It's late.
Dana gathers up the letter and the picture.
Yeah, I'll be there in a little bit, okay, Dana, Yes,
you could talk to me.
There isn't anything you could tell me that will make
me love you less. You're safe with me, you know that, right,
Sometimes you just have to let go and trust someone.
She does not respond. He waits, gives a small sigh,
walks away. She lifts her hand off the picture, looks
down at it. Interior Dana's home office day. Dana sits
in the same spot as the sun comes up. Interior
Ada's house, front hallway. A knock on the front door.
Ada enters from the kitchen, her movements labored. She opens
the door to find on the porch dressed us earlier.
You don't have to speak with me.
In fact, I shouldn't be here and this will probably
so likely get.
Me dispart is the verdict.
Ind No, this isn't about the case.
Oh, come in.
Ada unlocks the screen door, pushes it open. Interior Ada's
kitchen day. Dana sits at the table. Ada pulls a
whistling kettle off the stove, crosses to the table, and
pours water for tea. Her hand shakes noticeably.
You know, for years the medical community said I didn't
love my son enough, and that's what caused his autism.
You're the first person who ever accused me of loving
him too much.
I am.
You may have been right in a way. I had
held on for so long. I didn't know how to
let go. Doctors always talked about Teddy like he was
broken and needed to be fixed. I was afraid of
what that meant. I really did believe I was the
only one who could ever truly care for him and
know what he needed.
And so you just accepted it. It was it was
just that easy.
Oh No, it was never easy.
I was depressed.
I was angry. Sometimes, after Teddy would finally fall asleep,
I would scream into a pillow.
Until I had nothing left.
I was angry at my husband for not even trying
to understand, angry at my family for not being there
for me. I wondered what I had done to deserve it.
Then I used to feel guilty until I realized none
of it was a reflection on who I was as
a person or my ability to be a good mother.
Did you ever have any doubts about your feelings for Teddy?
My sister asked me once if I found it difficult
to love Teddy. I told her, it's only the disability
you struggle to embrace, not the child.
Dana removes the colored envelope from her purse, opens it.
I asked my parents never to send anything after I left,
but they did frequently all these years. I never opened
any of them, though I don't know why.
I didn't know.
Dana takes the picture out of the envelope.
I told them after I left, I never wanted to
talk about it.
She pushes the picture across the table to Ada, picks
it up close on a school picture of a little girl.
She's about eight years old and has Down syndrome. Ada
studies the picture, then looks.
At Dana, this is your child.
I mean, I haven't seen her in almost eight years,
since she was five months old.
She was born with a hole in her heart.
Was coming for babies with down syndrome. The pregnancy wasn't planned.
I was twenty nine and my fiancee, Chris, had started
his career, and I was just about done with law school.
Those first few months.
Were just a blur, a doctor's appointments and tests and
people constantly in and out, and I was still trying
to study in the midst of all of it so
I could graduate, pretending I could keep it all together
and that.
Was and that everything was just perfect.
Danna takes a sip of tea.
Chris was so thrilled to be a dad. He was
an only child, adopted and a family was everything to him.
He didn't seem at all concerned about her disability. She
was just his beautiful little girl, and it made me
feel like.
Something was wrong with me for feeling so cheated.
Insert hospital room flashback. Dana stands in a back corner
of the room. Her fiance Chris, early thirties, bends over
the bed strokes the hair of a baby girl as
a nurse removes wires and tubes from her. A doctor
speaks to Dana and Chris. Chris nods at the doctor.
Dana stares off into space. Choose a nail. The nurse
smiles at Chris and wheels the baby out of the room.
Chris and the doctor follow. Dana remains rooted. She looks
around the room at all the cards, flowers, and stuffed animals.
Her gaze lifts to a floating bouquet of get well balloons.
Dana crosses over to the window, takes a small stuffed cat,
and walks out back to scene. Dana stares into her cup.
I sat there in the waiting room while she was
having surgery and thought, maybe she'll die, Maybe she'd be
better off, maybe I'd be better off. Like what kind
of person has those thoughts about their own baby. I
wasn't worthy of being a mother, and I felt guilty
and ashamed and lost. I was angry at myself and
angry at Chris because he seems so unaffected by it all,
and I really needed someone to talk to, like someone
it would tell me it was okay to feel this way,
someone who went and judge me for wanting back the
life i'd lost.
Dana looks up at Ada, but.
I didn't have that, so I just walked out.
I walked out of.
That hospital, and I never went back, not to see
if my daughter survived, not even to see my parents again.
I couldn't I couldn't face anyone. I was a coward
of failure as a mother, and as far from perfect
as I could possibly get. I didn't know how to
love my own And here I've been in court trying
to judge you. I'm so sorry, Ada, I don't know
why I put you through this. I think I want
it so desperately to prove leaving your child to someone
else was the right thing to do, because because it
meant that I made the right choice too.
Ada closes her eyes. Insert continuous. Ada sees herself standing
side by side with adult Teddy as he lets a
yellow balloon drift up towards the shining sun. Back to scene,
Ada opens her eyes looks closely at Dana.
There is an enormous sense of loss that comes with
being the parent of a child with a disability. It
never fades, but in time you learn to live with it.
Life grows in and up and around it, even though
it waits below the surface and bubbles up just when
you think you've forgotten it. But that part of you
that feels that pain or confusion or resentment, that's the
same part of you that feels love and tenderness and care.
She picks up the picture, looks at it, and puts
it back on the table and slides it over to Dana.
Not all choices are permanent.
She removes her hand from the picture and places it
on top of one of Dana's.
Do you realize in telling me your story? Not once
did you ever speak your daughter's name.
Dana looks at the picture.
Maddie.
Dana looks up at her.
Her name is Mattie.
Her eyes well with tears. Interior Dana's office Day. Dana
reads at her desk. She is dressed in court attire.
The desk phone rings. She picks it up, listens, I'm
on my way down. She hangs up, grabs her briefcase,
yells as she hurries out.
Carter verdicts in.
Her door slam shut. Exterior Ada's backyard Day. The sliding
glass door opens from inside. Ada steps out into the
brilliant sunshine. Teddy beckons to her from the garden. Interior
courtroom day. Everyone is present except for Alexis and Ada.
Dana glances over at the empty defence table and checks
her watch. Alexis enters the courtroom, walks to the front.
Her usual energy is missing.
Permission to approach your honor, counselor's approach.
Dana joins Alexis in front of the bench. Alexis speaks
in a low voice. The judge nods. Dana and Alexis
return to their seats.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, thank you for your service.
This case has been dismissed, and you are hereby released
from duty.
There's a murmur about the courtroom. The jurors look at
one another, confused, gather themselves to leave. Dana approaches Alexis.
When did she die sometime last night?
An autopsy's pending, but she'd probably been built for several months.
She knew it was her time.
Was she alone?
Not completely? She was in the garden.
I'm glad she had just laid down and went to
sleep in a big, hollowed out spot, a little bigger
than she was where Teddy used to lay.
I just saw her.
Alexis gives her a questioning look.
I'm sorry I didn't know for you a deal.
Alexis nods and walks away. The last jury member steps
down from the jury box. Dana calls out, oh wait,
She rushes over what was the verdict? Exterior ATI's backyard Day,
Ada and Teddy lie side by side in the dirt,
hold hands. They watch a yellow balloon lift higher and
higher into the blue sky. Exterior Cemetery Day, Alexis and
Gina stand by Ada's graveside. A reverend reads from the Bible.
Dana approaches, but keeps her distance, stands off to one side.
The reverend finishes, the casket lowers into the ground. Alexis
and Gina hug. Alexis notices Dana says something to Gina
and breaks away. Dana watches as Alexis walks toward her.
I was hoping you'd be here. She pulls an envelope
out of her purse.
She left this for you.
Dana takes the envelope from her. Their eyes meet, Take care, Dana,
Alexis rejoins Gina. They walk towards a waiting town car.
Dana walks over to Ada's grave, takes a flower from
a wreath.
Best in Peace, Ada.
She places the flower atop the casket. Interior Dana's car Day.
Dana sits parked in front of Ada's house. There's a
moving van in the driveway, A government car parked behind it.
She watches mover's load furniture into the van. Interior Ada's
living room day. Dana enters from the front hallway, looks
around the room. Moving boxes are everywhere, laden with Ada's possessions.
She crosses to the piano, picks up a framed photo,
close on a photo of young Ada holding Teddy as
a toddler, A rare photo of both of them smiling
into the camera, sets the picture back on the piano.
Walks over to the sliding glass door, looks out of
the garden. She opens the door. Exterior backyard continuous. Dana
steps out, glances around her eyes land on the hollowed
out spot in the garden. She crosses to the spot,
kneels down, presses her hand to the earth, closes her eyes.
A court appointed administrator for AIDA's estate appears in the doorway.
Can I help you?
Dana stands up, whirls around.
I'm from the DA's office.
The administrator just stares at Dana. Dana fishes in her purse,
produces her credentials.
I need to finish some paperwork in regards to the
legal proceedings.
I won't be long.
The administrator appears at Dana's identification.
Take your time, we'll be sorting through this junk for
a while.
Disappears back inside. Dana follows. Interior living room continuous. Dana
re enters from the backyard. She takes the photo from
the piano, looks at it, and brings it to her chest.
She glances around the room one last time, walks to
the front door, takes the photo with her. Interior Dana's
home Office Night. Dana sits at her desk, Ada's unopened
letter and the framed photograph she took from Ada's house
in front of her. She opens the letter and reads.
A range of emotions play across her face. She struggles
to rein them in. Finally, she can no longer hold
back and breaks down sobs as she gets to the
end of the letter. Interior Dana's House foyer Night. The
front door opens. Ethan enters, hangs up his jacket. He
hears crying, calls out. Dana hurries towards the back of
the house. Interior Dana's home office continues. Ethan rushes in
kneels in front of Dana's chair, still clutching the letter.
She dissolves in his arms. She clings to him. As
they sink to the floor, he rocks her close. On
Dana's laptop screen open to a social media account for
Christopher Moreland, there are multiple photos of a man with
a young girl with down syndrome. Exterior airport day, Ethan's
car pulls up in the departure lane, stops. Ethan exits
the driver's side, steps back to the trunk, removes a suitcase.
Dana exits the passenger side, stands on the curb. Her
hair is loose, flowing, and she is dressed in a
sun dress and sandals. Ethan brings the suitcase to her
a kiss, I love you, I love you too. She
takes the suitcase walks into the airport. Interior airplane day.
Dana boards the plane, finds her seat, settle herself. The
flight crew prepares for takeoff. She leans back in her seat,
pulls a small stuffed cat out of the pocket of
her sweater, pulls it in her lap, closes her eyes
as the plane shuttles down the runway. Montage during Ada's
voiceover the plane lands. Dana walks through the airport. Dana
reunts a car. Dana drives through the suburbs. Dana pulls
into the parking lot of a ball field.
When you're going to have a baby. It's like planning
a fabulous trip to Italy. You buy a bunch of
guide books and make your wonderful plans. After months of
eager anticipation, the day arrives, you pack your bags and
off you go. The stewardess comes in and says, welcome
to Holland, Holland. Do you say, what do you mean Holland.
I'm supposed to be in Italy.
All my life, I've dreamed of going to Italy. But
there's been a change in the flight. They've landed in Holland,
and there you must stay. The important thing is they
haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place. It's
just a different place. So you must go out and
buy new guide books, and you must learn a whole
new language, and you will meet a whole new group
of people you would have never met. It's slower paces
than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been
there for a while and you catch your breath, you
look around and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills,
and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts. But everyone
you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and
for the rest of your life you will say, yes,
that's where I was supposed to go, and the pain
of that will never ever ever go away, because the
loss of that tream is a very significant loss. But
if you spend your life warning the fact you didn't
get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy
the very special, the very lovely things about.
Holland exterior ballfield day softball game in progress, Challenger League
for children with a range of special needs. Some kids
are in wheelchairs, some cannot speak or see, but everyone
is having a great time. Parents in the stands clap enthusiastically.
Dana exits the rental car watches the game. A big
cheer erupts as a child gets a hit and their
buddy pushes the wheelchair to first base. She starts towards
the stands. Behind the backstop. Chris kneels next to Mattie seven.
He sees Dana approach, stands up. She gets closer. He
puts a protective arm around Mattie. Dana stops a few
feet away. Chris speaks to Mattie, then walks forward to Dana.
I didn't believe your mom when she said you were coming.
You have no right to be here, not after all
this time. What makes you think you can walk back
in here like nothing happened?
Something did happen?
What does that mean? Why are you here?
What do you want?
I made a mistake.
It's terrible mistake because I didn't know who I was,
and I didn't believe in myself.
I didn't think I could be a mother or a good.
One anyway, so I did what I thought was best
for everyone. I failed you, and I failed our daughter.
I don't expect you to forgive me. She spots Mattie
running towards them, but maybe she can't.
Mattie runs up to Chris.
Daddy, it's always my turn. Okay, sweetheart, I'll be right there.
Mattie looks at Dana.
Hi, who are you here to watch the game.
Dana looks at Chris.
Would that be all right?
Sure?
Are you for the home team or the away team?
I think home?
That's my team. She takes Dana's hand.
Come on, I'll show you where to sit.
She leads Dana towards the stands. Dana turns to look
back at Chris tears in her eyes. He puts up
a hand and shakes his head as if to acquiesce.
Makes no move to stop them. That's a really pretty dress.
Your hair color is just like mine.
Do you have any pets.
We have two cats and a hamster. My name's Mattie.
What's yours?
Chris watches them walk away fade out the end. Yes,
emotional guy.
Yeah, you guys got me too, Thank you very much.
M