My Broken Pieces : Mending the Wounds from Sexual Abuse Through Faith, Family and Love (9781101990087)

by Rivera, Rosie

  “You studied law and know the lingo,” she told me. “You take care of this.” She wanted to concentrate on her family and making sure the kids were all right.

  We began talking with the authorities in late May 2006, and a preliminary hearing was scheduled for the next month at the Long Beach Superior Court.

  Trino got himself a high-profile attorney, Richard Poland, who had an outstanding record of winning cases of this kind. On our side was a court-appointed attorney, Deputy District Attorney Mark Burnley, who had just come out of law school and had never defended a case like this before. It was David versus Goliath; however, we had little say in the matter since it was ultimately a California state case: The People v. Jose Trinidad Marín.

  In one of the preliminary hearings, the two attorneys argued back and forth as to whether media would be allowed at the trial. Trino’s lawyers wanted cameras in the courtroom—even though, ironically, he also claimed that the accusations were no more than a publicity stunt orchestrated by the Riveras. On our side, we were adamant in requesting that the media not be present. Chay’s popularity had continued to grow over the years and as it was, the scandal was already plastered all over the news.

  Thank God, the judge ultimately agreed with us—no cameras would be allowed inside but journalists, like any other person interested in the case, would be able to attend.

  The circus was about to begin.

  • • •

  The trial lasted over twelve months. For twelve months, we had to go to court about once a month and for twelve months the entire Rivera family—my parents, my brothers, my sister, and my nieces and nephews—were there to support us. Chay cleared her schedule to make sure she was absolutely free on every court date, and so did my brothers. It was a very difficult year for me, but knowing that my family was standing by my side and helping me get through the aftermath of the one secret I kept from them all those years made me realize just how blessed I am.

  I truly am.

  The year before we found Trino, Chay had been going through a particularly difficult time with her second husband, Juan. There was a jewelry store at the time that had a slogan—“Women of the World, Raise Your Right Hand”—that meant to tell women that they didn’t have to wait for a man to buy them a diamond ring. Chay loved the idea of doing away with men and getting herself what she needed, so she went ahead and bought herself a big beautiful diamond ring that she wore all the time. We took to calling it her “Victory Ring” since it symbolized how she had made it—all on her own.

  The day before the trial started, Chay and I were hanging out and trying to imagine how it was going to unfold, and we were giving each other courage and strength for what was to come.

  Suddenly Chay slipped the Victory Ring off her finger and said, “This represents a promise I personally made to keep myself strong. Now you need to have it, Sister. I want you to wear it during the trial—and I know it will help give you the strength to make it through.”

  And I did. I wore it every day of those twelve months and I had never felt stronger.

  • • •

  Every single time we had to be in court, the courthouse was packed. Trino’s family sat on one side, the Riveras sat on the other, and the few spots that were left were occupied by hungry members of the press who reported on every single detail of the trial. Before Trino fled nearly a decade earlier, he had been charged with nine felonies—including counts of a lewd act with a child under the age of fourteen, aggravated sexual assault, and continuous sexual abuse of a minor. Those were the same charges being brought against him at the trial.

  Trino’s attorney made several motions to dismiss the case, but they were all rejected. The first months went by and a number of individuals gave depositions. But when the time came for Chiquis and me to testify, we were brought in separately. Since we were both making charges against Trino, neither of us could be present while the other spoke. I was now twenty-five, and Chiquis was twenty-one. Nine years had gone by since that fateful day when we told Chay everything.

  I was terrified. Even though I had been waiting eighteen years for this moment, this was going to be the first time I spoke about being molested in such detail. Of course, I had talked to therapists and counselors at length; we had also done the TV interview where we talked about the psychological consequences of what happened, but never before had I really shared any of the gruesome details. The idea of having to do that in front of my family—let alone other people I didn’t even know yet—was horrifying. Even the thought of saying it all in front of Trino made me nervous. I was embarrassed to have to share all the details and it made me feel ashamed and guilty for what had happened. It was easier for me to forgive Trino than myself.

  Lupe, always the guardian of my fears, knew exactly what was going through my mind. He told me to keep my eyes focused on the attorneys and the judge—he told me to look at him—but not to even glance at Trino.

  The night before I was to testify, I closed my eyes and prayed.

  “Please God, speak through me,” I asked Him.

  I could hear His response: “I want you to know that you will not take the stand without Me. You will be on My lap—the way you used to sit on your daddy’s lap at the kitchen table. A time when you knew you were loved.”

  Then I opened my Bible and before me was Psalm 27: The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

  “The Lord is going to help me,” I said to myself. “The Holy Spirit is going to tell me what to say.”

  When I walked in the chamber and was called to the witness stand, I refused to look at Trino because I knew that no matter what his reaction was, it would affect me. So I did what I had to do to keep it together: I just focused my eyes on Lupe, and remembered that nothing bad could happen to me since I was sitting on God’s lap.

  I told the facts as clearly as I could remember them and felt I was doing a good job. But when Trino’s attorney began his cross-examination, I wasn’t sure what would happen. I was afraid he’d ask me things I couldn’t remember. And even if you are one hundred percent sure of what happened, when you’re sitting in front of a judge, a jury, and an attorney who’s pressing you with difficult questions, you still get nervous. The whole time I kept wondering, Are the jurors going to believe me? Am I remembering enough? Sure enough, Trino’s attorney pressed me about minor details I had forgotten, but I answered every question as honestly as possible. And if it was something I definitely couldn’t remember, I simply replied, “I don’t know.”

  The most difficult part was recounting everything Trino had done to me in front of my father. With every detail I gave, I knew I was breaking my father’s heart.

  When Chiquis was called to the stand, I was escorted out of the room, but I was praying for her since I knew that everything I was feeling, she had to be feeling a hundred times worse. I knew how much she loved her dad—probably as much as I loved mine—and I couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain of having to testify against him.

  My whole family stayed inside the courtroom supporting Chiquis while I waited outside all alone. The hallway felt dark and lonely and the air was still. Everything was quiet; you could hear a pin drop. Yet no matter how hard I strained my ears, I couldn’t hear Chiquis’s voice. I didn’t actually want to hear what she was saying—I knew it would be too much to bear—but the silence was maddening. To keep my mind from trying to imagine the things Trino might have done to her, I focused my mind on everything around me—the hardness of the bench, the cool marble floor, the painting on the wall—while I read and reread Psalm 27 to keep myself calm.

  When my family filed out after Chiquis’s questioning, I could see the sorrow and grief on their faces. Chiquis was crying, and Chay was holding her tight. Pastor Pete whispered, “Rosie, it was worse than what he did to you.” He hugged me and said, “It’s going to be okay. God
is going to restore us all.”

  We all walked out of the courthouse in shock and in silence.

  The next day, a medical doctor took the stand and spoke of what he found when he examined Jacqie at the age of eight. He testified that the evidence showed that she had been molested when she was very young, most likely between the ages of two and four.

  Trino chose not to say a word during the trial. For the most part, he kept a straight face and showed no emotion. Sometimes he would shake his head at us, as if in disappointment, but I knew it was nothing but another mind trick, so I did my best to ignore him. At every possible instance, Richard Poland kept hammering away that Trino was a good man, that he had always been a good dad, and this was nothing more than a publicity stunt by the spotlight-hungry Rivera family trying to get in the news.

  • • •

  Months went by and one day in October 2006, we found that Trino had posted bail. We were shocked. How could that be? How on earth could he have raised so much money? Then we heard he owned some property and had either sold it or put a lien against it.

  Upon learning this, of course our biggest fear was that Trino would pull another disappearing act. He had been on the run for nine years; what would stop him from running now? But our fears were appeased when the next court date came around, and Trino not only showed up—he was looking sharp in a suit and tie. He seemed confident that he was going to win the case.

  Trino’s family was convinced of his innocence. They were all there to support him and at every chance they had, they made sure to let us know. Trino’s family had never liked Chay. He came from a family of all sisters, so to them he was a god and of course Chay was unworthy of such perfection. The fact that on top of it now she had become a famous recording artist and she was accusing him of sexually molesting minors made them despise her even more.

  By the time the hearing came to an end that day, tensions were running high. Trino was acting cocky, and my brothers didn’t like it one bit. As he walked past our side of the courtroom, Trino looked over at Lupe and said something to him. Chay’s son, Michael, who was sitting next to Lupe, overheard what he said and without giving it a second thought, he threw himself on top of Trino and punched him in the face.

  “Don’t you disrespect my uncle!” he said.

  Instead of striking back at Michael, Trino landed a punch on Lupe. Now both Lupe and Michael were going after Trino and soon enough all hell broke loose. Someone tried to separate Trino, Michael, and Lupe but the pacifying efforts came too late—behind him, World War III had erupted. The Maríns and the Riveras were throwing punches left and right. One of Trino’s sisters hit my sister in the face and Chay being Chay, she hit her right back. One of Trino’s aunts began pulling Chiquis’s hair, calling her a liar. My mother and I started yelling, “Stop! Stop! Please stop!” To this day, I thank God for the fact my brother Juan was running late and wasn’t around for the fight. If he had been there, things would have really gotten out of hand.

  If I hadn’t been a believer, I would have probably had someone on the floor but now all I wanted was peace. The members of Trino’s family were innocent bystanders; they too were victims of his lies. Yet I also understood my family’s pain and frustration erupting from being trapped in a volcano for the nine years we had been looking for him. No one was to blame but Trino, and now he had more than three victims. All the Riveras and the Maríns had counts of lies, pain, and shame against him yet unfortunately those couldn’t be taken before a judge . . . so they tried to take justice into their own hands.

  Twenty security guards rushed in and they were just about to arrest us all when my brother Pete—wise Pastor Pete—arrived and pleaded with the police not to arrest anyone. Before long, both families admitted fault and promised to behave in the future. Still, the judge gave us a warning and said that if anything like that ever happened again, we’d all end up in jail.

  From that point on, there was extra security assigned, not just in the courtroom but in the entire building. The Marín family entered through one door, and the Riveras through another. They even kept us separated in the hallways.

  • • •

  Finally, the day came for closing arguments. Richard Poland pleaded with the six-man, six-woman jury to acquit Trino of the charges of aggravated sexual assault on Chiquis and me. I’ll never forget how he stood in front of the jury and asked them: “What can be worse than being a child molester? Maybe being falsely accused of being a child molester.”

  To him, our allegations were nothing more than a publicity stunt orchestrated by my sister in order to make it big in the music industry. I couldn’t believe my ears. To think that a mother would put her daughter—let alone her sister—through an ordeal like this just to sell more records? Really? What kind of monster did they think she was? Could the jury even buy something like this?

  On our side, the district attorney stuck to the facts. He reminded the jurors that based on the evidence set forth throughout the trial, it was clear that Trinidad Marín was guilty of what he was being accused of. He had taken advantage of us at a young age, and had used threats to get away with it. “Trinidad Marín is a predator,” he said, “and highly deserving of the highest stigma of sexual molestation.”

  Then the judge gave her instructions to the jury. Dressed in a pin-striped suit and wearing a very serious expression, Trino sat motionless in the courtroom. After only a few hours of deliberation, the jury came back with a verdict. Their decision was unanimous: they found him guilty on eight of nine counts.

  Trino was taken away in cuffs while his family cried in disbelief. I felt terrible for them, but most of all I felt terrible for his children. They had never done anything to deserve this. I had lost my childhood and my innocence. But that day, my sister’s children were losing their father for a second time and my heart broke in a million pieces.

  Justice was served, but it was bittersweet.

  • • •

  Trino’s sentencing was set for June 20, 2007. As the date drew closer, I felt the Lord asking me: “Daughter, what do you want for Trino?”

  But I didn’t have an answer. For years I had wanted Trino to be punished for what he had done, but now that I was faced with the reality of it, I was left with no words. What price could be placed on my eighteen years of suffering? How could that be measured? What was my childhood worth? I simply didn’t know. All I could think of was Chiquis, Jacqie, and Michael and how sad it was for them to have to grow up without a father; how sad it was that all this had happened; how sad it was that Trino’s life had come down to this. I also felt terrible for his other two kids . . . but maybe, just maybe, I had saved his daughter from sexual abuse. Statistics show that sexual molesters get worse with time—what Trino did to Chiquis was much worse than what he did to me, so I couldn’t help thinking that maybe he had hurt—or would hurt—the next child more.

  Even though for so many years, I had been convinced of the contrary, I knew that seeing Trino incarcerated would not bring joy to my heart or soul. Yes, the fact that he had been confronted with his acts and brought before justice helped me heal and now I could breathe easier; I was at peace. But I knew now that his punishment, though necessary, would give me no satisfaction.

  Then I heard God ask, “What is justice to you?”

  Again, I didn’t know, but I responded, “What I really and truly want is for his heart to change toward You; for him to repent for what he did and acknowledge the truth.” I realized that I didn’t need to hear Trino say “I’m sorry” to me, but told the Lord, “Whatever it takes for him to be in a cell alone and have an encounter and reconcile with You, that’s what I want,” I said. I didn’t care if it took one day, six months, or forty years.

  My words were completely sincere. I hoped with all my heart that he too would find solace in God and hopefully one day become his witness. I prayed for the difference he could make in people’s lives if only he s
hared with others his own truth and showed them that despite all of the pain and suffering he caused, despite all his wrongdoings, God loves him. God will always love him.

  • • •

  At the final sentencing, we had a chance to speak before the judge. This time Trino was wearing prison orange again.

  I had written out what I was going to say: “I lost my innocence when I was eight years old. From that moment forward, I lost my trust in men, in myself, and in the world. I cannot say what a proper sentence would be in this case. I don’t know what a person’s childhood is worth. I could no longer look my niece in the eye because of the horrible guilt I felt. If I had spoken out about the abuse when it happened, this may never have happened to Chiquis.”

  At this, the judge said to me, “All the guilt belongs to Marín, not you.”

  Chay’s son, Michael, never said a word during the trial, but at the sentencing, he looked directly at his father and told him, “Dad, all I want to say is ‘good-bye,’ because I never had a chance to do so.”

  Hearing those words was heartbreaking. Especially since he was just five years old when his father deserted him—and Trino never once called or tried to contact him. We later found out that Trino would look for Chiquis—he’d even go to her high school so he could see her from a distance—but he never once sought out his son.