Rachel Bellesen shot and killed her ex-partner after assaulting her and trying to rape her. What follows is a public trial that will test the time needed to prove self-defense, even after a lifetime of domestic abuse

Last modified on Monday, December 13, 2021 12.06 EST

There is a word Rachel Bellesen (Rachel Bellesen) is still unshakable. The moment the judge read the accusation to her, it reverberated in her dream: intentional murder. Can be sentenced to death.

Can be sentenced to death. To this day, Bellerson can't remember this sentence anymore. The past 24 hours have become blurred: assaults, shootings, arrests, now it is her summons.

It was October 9, 2020. Bellesen started the day, thinking that she was a victim. After all, she has explained how her ex attacked her. How he tried to rape her. How she shot him out of self-defense.

But throughout the night, Bellerson noticed that she was not being treated as a victim of crime. Despite this, she still believes that if she is accused of something, it must be because she drunk driving or did not have a proper gun permit. Only now did she realize that the judicial system regarded her as the perpetrator-the killer. Not after she survived Jacob Glace.

"I feel like I'm dead inside," Bellerson said, looking back. "I feel like a person standing in the center of a tornado, motionless, the tornado exploding everywhere, unable to move, breathe, think or feel anything."

In the United States, nearly one-quarter of women and one-tenth of men have experienced intimate partner violence or stalking in their lifetime. Bellerson thought she had left all this behind. Moving to Montana should be a new beginning. But her history with Grace is about to reappear-in a public trial, the trial will test the time needed to prove self-defense, even after a lifetime of domestic abuse.

Before she moved, Bellerson lived in the specter of violence for almost her entire life. She said it started with the abuse she suffered at the hands of relatives as a child.

Then there is Grace. Bellesen, originally named Bellesen, was only 15 years old when they met and lived in a remote mountainous area on the outskirts of Leavenworth, Washington. Glass is 23 years old, a marijuana dealer with a handsome face and a passion for outdoor activities. They are dating in a few weeks.

At first, this relationship brought freedom to Belleson. They share a passion for hiking and snowboarding, and Glace can use his car to take Bellesen far away from her town.

But soon, freedom became isolation. Bellerson became pregnant shortly before her 16th birthday. Her mother gave her a choice: either have an abortion and move to a new home in Montana with her family, or stay in Washington with Grace. She chose Grace.

Bellerson lives in a shed that has been converted into a studio apartment, and he feels increasingly cramped. She doesn't go to school anymore. She lost contact with most of her friends. Without a driver's license, her vision seemed to shrink. Grace used to be so eager to take her away in adventures, keeping her at home more and more. Bellerson said Grace started raping her after their first child was born. If she refused his courtship, he would call her a teaser. If she cried when he pressed her down, he would scold her for making him feel bad. It will take years for Bellerson to realize that what is happening is a crime.

She was only a teenager when she found out she was pregnant with her second child. He stopped raping her during pregnancy, but the violence continued. When he passed by, Grace would give her a push, usually "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there." Once, Belleson was holding her first child while he was out with a friend. Interrupted him by mistake. As she turned and left, a sharp pain stung her shoulder. Her baby slipped between her fingers. Grace threw a square beer bottle onto her spine.

prostitute. Bad mother. ugly. no love. Stick people. Insulted every day. Then, a few days after she took her second child home, Grace began to rape her again. "It was more violent than before," she later told her defense team. The sutures of her caesarean section almost split. She tried to commit suicide.

When she woke up in the emergency room, Grace looked like she was crying all the time. He seemed scared—it was more for himself than for her, she doubted.

After that, the physical attack stopped for a while. Glace promises to do better and become better. It was in that calm that Bellerson agreed to marry Grace. She thinks this is the right approach: after all, they already have children.

But Grice quickly returned to his violent mode, only now it has escalated. Bellerson said that strangulation has become part of daily work. She was seriously injured in an accident, and she was bleeding three days later. Belleson tried to leave, but she was facing pressure from her family to persevere and be a good wife and mother. Even after they finally separated-after Bellerson said she found out that Grace was sleeping with another teenager-she would sometimes notice Grace's black Chevrolet Tahoe following her.

Due to alienation from family and friends, Belleson experienced a period of homelessness, drug and alcohol abuse, and she tried to recover from what she had endured.

Montana will be different. In 2005, after reconnecting with her mother, whom she had not contacted for many years, Bellesen hopped on the train leaving Washington with only a backpack. In view of her lack of housing, the judge awarded Glass custody of their children.

"It was very difficult to move here. I left everyone I knew behind. I left my children behind," Bellerson said. "I don't know if I jumped from the frying pan to the fire. But I really think this is my only choice, to really try to get my life back on track."

Bellerson initially settled in the tourist center of Whitefish, a ski resort like Leavenworth. The dynamics of the resort town feel very familiar: there are locals, and then there are tourists. In Leavenworth, Bellerson prides himself on being on the side of the locals. "We thought this was our town," she recalled. But in Whitefish, the situation reversed.

It was a lonely time. The only people she knows in Montana are her sister, her mother, and her stepfather—and these relationships are still very tense to a large extent. Without a support system, Bellesen continued to drink, leading to a series of convictions for drunk driving.

But slowly, Belleson changed her life. With Grace's consent, Belleson's two sons came to live with her. She was treated for drug addiction and signed up for the dating app Match when she was sober in 2012.

A personal profile stands out to her. It features the father of two children from Southern California, and the description is short and pertinent: not social. Don't make a bar. Must like children very much. And there is no plot. It belongs to Corey Bellerson.

Before they agreed to meet in person, they exchanged emails and phone calls for several weeks. Corey was a tall man with bright eyes, a sloppy beard, and a short cut, he remembered being immediately fascinated. Wearing a plaid shirt and jeans, Bellesen looks casual but confident. Her hair was long and black at the time, hovering around her waist. Then he felt relaxed beside her: "It was like talking to an old friend," he recalled.

Their first date is like the plot in the movie. They went to eat first, and then took a walk by the lake. Sitting on a rock by the water, they lost their way in the conversation, and when the sky turned black, they didn't know. But even when the downpour started, they still chose to stay—if just staying with each other for a while longer.

Soaked, they drove back to Corey's house and dried them on the porch. He knew immediately that she was that person. "This is crazy," he said. "She was just smiling, her eyes gleaming." In the same year, they got married.

By 2017, Bellesen had completed a degree in addiction studies. She wants to be a consultant. While looking for opportunities, she stumbled upon the list of Abbie Shelter, a Kalispell non-profit organization that supports survivors of domestic and sexual violence. She decided to volunteer.

Entering its headquarters for the first time proved to be a shock. It's totally unlike the cold asylum where Bellerson spent the night in Washington. She walked through a large yard dotted with flowers and swings, and walked towards a cozy purple-decorated house. Inside, she was welcomed by furry pillows, sofas, and a room full of life.

At the center of all this is Hilary Shaw, executive director of Abbey Shelter. Bellerson met Xiao at her first volunteer meeting. A ski bunny who claims to be from Connecticut, who claims to be a ski bunny from Connecticut-she joked that she moved to Montana after meeting a "cute guy" and her husband, Xiao, was sitting in the middle of the room Breastfeeding. This is an image of self-confidence, deeply imprinted in Bellerson's mind.

"When she speaks, the way she speaks I have never really heard other women speak before," Bellerson explained. "This is the voice of a woman. She has been told all her life that she is perfect. She is confident, capable, and strong." Bellerson paused. "And I have never experienced such a woman."

Bellesen started working hard to make himself an important part of the Abbie Shelter community. She even brought her own set of power tools to help repair the fence and rewire the electrical system. Soon, she was promoted from a volunteer to a staff member.

Despite this, Bellesen retained most of his personal experience. "Over the years I have discovered that when I tell people about my history with Jack or growing up with my stepfather, they will either be very angry at the situation, or they will feel very sick and distance themselves from themselves."

But even if Belleson made great strides in her new life, she could not escape the nagging self-doubt. Grace's voice echoed in her mind, taunting her and warning her that it was not good enough. She cannot escape. It turns out that she can't escape Grace herself.

Confident Roman nose. Blue-gray eyes. Small ears. Strong jaw line. Every time Isaac Glace caught a glimpse of himself, he would see a young version of his father: "I will look in the mirror and see the person I hate the most in this world."

Isaac is now in his early 20s, but this is not always the case. When he grew up, he regarded the relationship between his parents as "an embarrassing tug of war for guardianship", no different from other divorced families.

As the youngest son of Glace and Bellesen, Isaac is too young to remember that he moved to Montana. But he does remember his father commuting to the state soon after. Grace will try to integrate herself into the lives of children, participating in birthday parties and theater recitals.

"My father, he would show up one night, like every six months, taking my brother and me out for dinner or something," Isaac recalled. He could see that his parents' reunion was very upset, but they managed to get through it with an attitude of "doing it for the children".

But still feel something is wrong. When Isaac entered his teenage years, he began to realize that the tension went beyond the usual divorce drama. This prompted Belleson and her husband Corey to attend a family therapy meeting with him. There, Isaac began to learn about his mother's past - and his father's violent behavior.

"In hindsight, it feels too obvious, do you know? I feel sad that I didn't understand what happened as quickly as possible," Isaac said. As he grew older, more and more incidents weakened his father's image as a good person.

The turning point occurred one night when Isaac was about 15 years old. He went to visit Grasse in Plains, Montana, where he lived with his then girlfriend Jasmine Saylor. When Isaac was awakened by the sound of fighting, it was close to midnight.

"Prostitute." "Bitch." Isaac remembered his father was drunk and yelled in front of Thaler. He was worried that the insult would escalate into violence, so he called 911. But then Grice suddenly changed his attitude. His anger disappeared. He looked calm, even amiable. On the other end of the call was the 911 operator, who convinced Isaac to hang up. "The moment I hung up, he became very violent and very abusive again-but this time for me," Isaac said, and Grice pointed a rifle at his face before rushing into the night. .

In the end, it was on the premise of talking about his son that Grace suggested that he and Belleson meet in the afternoon of October 8, 2020. Bellerson felt that she had no choice: Grice felt upset with Isaac, eager to confront him. If Bellerson disagreed with the visit, she worried that Grace might ambush Isaac and reprimand him—or worse.

The day started as usual. Her husband, Corey, the operations manager of an Internet service provider, wakes up at his home by the lake and kisses his sleeping wife goodbye before going to work.

That night, when he saw her again, she was sitting in the Cornerstone convenience store on the desolate section of Highway 28, shocked and overwhelmed. Corey's gaze shifted from the tattered shirt to the blood on his jeans.

Bellerson has been planning a relaxing afternoon. She had half a day off, so after finishing her work at Abby Sanctuary, she took her dog to hike on the slopes of Blacktail Mountain. At this moment, she received a call from Grace, urging her to meet.

She was very angry. Despite this, she did what she thought was right: she sent the dog home and was about to drive an hour to Paradise in Montana, where Grace was living.

No one knew where she was going, not even her husband—Corey would not agree. Instead, she texted him and said vaguely: "Busy at work, see you tonight."

When Bellerson arrived, she noticed that Grace had been drinking. His manner seemed a bit too friendly. "He has a face that smiles wherever he goes, but his eyes don't smile," she later told her defensive team.

Belleson arrived in a new car, a 2020 Land Rover Discovery car, and Glass insisted that they drive for a drive. He believes that this will give them more privacy. Despite her doubts, she agreed. She suspected his friendliness was a smokescreen of his anger.

Belleson was driving the steering wheel, and Glass led her away from his sleepy town, away from the lonely antique shop and the white picket fence. They drove across the Clark Fork River, over the train tracks, and along an empty road where the conifers grew tall and dense.

A rock outcrop rose from the ground in front of them, about two stories high. Glace instructed Bellesen to turn to a dirt road behind him, where there was a clearing leading to the river. They parked the car and Bellerson lifted the rear hatch of the car. When they shared vodka, she sat on the backsplash.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" Bellerson remembered to ask, irritated. The conversation about their son was deadlocked. Grace tilted her head: "You look so good." He commented on her breasts, mocking how lucky Corey was.

His temperament seemed unstable—Belleson became more and more anxious to leave. She glanced at the phone. No signal. Grace leaned in and kissed her.

She hurriedly pushed him away, but at this moment, the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. She wanted to slide off the tailgate, but her feet never touched the ground. At that moment, she said, Grace was looking for her again-only this time, he pressed her on his shoulder, with his other hand tore open her shirt, and tore off the buttons and buttons of her bra.

All this happened too fast. Trapped by his weight, she was afraid that he would suffocate her like he used to. She felt like she was going to die. His eyes looked so narrow and so glass. She was scratched and bruised and managed to break free-but when she sprinted around the Land Rover's side, Grace's hand stretched forward and grabbed her trousers so hard that her trousers became loose. . Her zipper is broken.

But she went to the front door. When she tried to climb in, Grace followed behind her, and she noticed Corey's Glock 26 pistol on the center console of the car. She turned around, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger.

Lance Jasper, a Missoula lawyer, is not looking for another homicide to represent.

In fact, as he said, he had a very bad day.

His wife suffers from progressive multiple sclerosis, an incurable disease that attacks the nervous system, and is transitioning to a wheelchair. Jasper was frustrated: he could not stop the development of the disease. He is facing the constant shock of bad news, and he can do nothing about it. "I like to control - or at least think that I can guide the outcome of something in a way that is consistent with the effort, right? If you work hard enough, things will get better," he said. "And when you have a disease, there is nothing you can do. You can only watch it take away one person, the one you love the most."

It was during this time that a friend of the Public Defender’s Office revealed to him a new case: A woman in a prison in Thompson Falls, Montana, was accused of deliberately killing someone while shooting and abusing her ex. . Is Jasper interested in representing her?

He was not attracted by the idea, but jumped up at the thought of leaving the office. Driving to help him clarify his thoughts.

Jasper is a round face, horseshoe-shaped beard, and straight-talking former construction worker. He has counted criminal defense cases for nearly 20 years. But what he saw at Thompson Falls Prison that day was rarely seen in his work. This is a "unicorn" case-a real self-defense case.

Bellerson sat behind a glass window across from him, talking to the phone hanging on the wall. She kept repeating: "I have no choice, I have no choice."

Bellerson feared that she would face the death penalty, but Jasper knew that such a sentence was rare in Montana. Since 1976, only three people have been executed in the state. However, long-term imprisonment is not impossible.

"I was really scared to see a woman," Jasper said. "At the time I didn't really understand all the traumas she went through. But what I saw was a victim."

Experts often interpret domestic violence as a means of control-a pattern of behavior used to intimidate, silence, and isolate victims, in addition to any physical harm they may suffer. When he began to delve into Bellesen's case, he saw how this control worked in Glace and Bellesen's relationship.

But this is an opportunity to regain control of Bellerson and his own life by defending her. Jasper decided to accept the case free of charge.

"It helps to balance me. In a sense, seeing people in need is something I can do," Jasper said. "You can't change the world, but you can change some things."

However, the first obstacle was getting Bellerson out of prison.

Bellerson has been detained since police officer Gary Stanberry picked her up from the convenience store where she and Corey called 911. Since then, she has shared a square concrete cell with three other women.

Bellerson quickly learned that one of her cellmates was a domestic abuser himself. Bellerson lay on her bunk and tried to cover her head with a blanket to cover up the insult of the woman screaming at her family on the phone.

"To be forced to listen to this song every day for three weeks is horrible," she said.

Although many studies have shown a correlation, estimates of how many incarcerated women themselves have suffered sexual abuse and domestic violence vary. A 1999 survey of female prisoners in New York recorded a 94% rate of physical and sexual abuse.

However, when the states filed charges and sentences, the struggle still existed. In 2021 alone, advocates in Washington and Oregon introduced bills requiring courts to consider the history of domestic abuse when relevant as a justification for mitigating criminal penalties.

These bills are based on similar legislation in California, Illinois, and New York, which enacted the Domestic Violence Survivor Justice Act in 2019.

So far, neither of these two bills have been passed, but they are part of the growing field of domestic violence law, which is relatively new.

"The fact of [domestic] violence has been going on for hundreds, thousands of years. But what I want to say is that it has only been realized since the 1960s and 1970s that it is a serious legal damage," the early days of the field Said the leader and professor of law Elizabeth M Schneider.

Even if legal progress is made, the public—and even the judicial system—will need time to catch up. "We see it in many areas," Schneider explained, "Even if the law changes, it may take a very, very long time for the public to change."

Although Bellesen survived the attempted rape in her eyes, Jasper noticed that her body was not treated like the crime scene. When the police met her for the first time, they did not take photos of her torn clothes and scratches. He said that the collected evidence was improperly handled. Jasper explained: “We only have what the police put forward in their report, which is intended to show that this is a homicide.” Later, as part of Bellerson’s defense, Jasper interviewed the Sanders County investigation. In the case of Brian Josephson, Jasper discovered that the police officer had delayed taking Bellerson to a clinic that was certified for the collection of forensic evidence of sexual assault.

"Why didn't you take her there?" Jasper asked him.

Josephson replied: "There was no penetration, so I decided not to take her there."

There are always moments in your life when your world will suddenly change. For Hilary Shaw, executive director of Abbie Shelter, one of those moments occurred on the evening of October 8, 2020, when her phone rang and it was a call from Bellesen's husband Corey.

Those early mornings were full of shock and confusion. She knows almost nothing except the basics: Bellesen shot her abuser. "Jack and Rachel's murder relationship has no clear path to escalation. Normally, this happens when someone is still in an abusive relationship," Xiao said.

Later, she discovered that Grace's violence had escalated—just with a different partner. At the time of his death, he was facing two felony charges of “assaulting a partner or family member” in 2020-one in a nearby Mines County and the other in Sanders County.

Despite this, Shaw never suspected that her colleague was in self-defense. "This is a good example of some abusers you can never get rid of," she said.

Xiao did not sleep that night. Instead, she drafted a list of who to call in the morning, laying the foundation for supporting Belleson's grassroots movement.

One of the first people she met was Kelsen Young of the Coalition Against Domestic and Sexual Violence in Montana. Whenever she was asked to explain the barriers to prosecuting domestic violence in Montana, Yang would point out the fact that an animal abuser only needs two crimes to qualify for a felony. For domestic abuse, three are needed.

But the solution is not as simple as changing the law. "I'm very happy to be able to say that our criminal law needs to be improved, and the ways to strengthen these are clear. This is not the case," Yang said.

Young explained that a bill aimed at strengthening penalties for domestic violence may enter the Montana legislature and propose amendments to make existing penalties more lenient. As a result, her organization sometimes had to frustrate its own legislation.

Bellerson's case was conducted in the context of an election year, so Yang must be careful. Republicans in Montana are on the eve of taking back the governor's residence for the first time in a decade. Yang had to weigh whether her league’s support would turn Belleson’s case into a political football.

For Bellesen, “just the right amount of pressure can make the situation worse,” Young said.

The original plan was to show strength at Bellesen's bail hearing: The bail was set at $200,000, which was far beyond the ability of her and Corey to pay. Bellesen's colleagues at Abbie Shelter launched a GoFundMe campaign to offset costs. The next step is to show support by calling the prosecutor or attending a hearing.

Yang did receive opposition from her coalition members, including state and local government advocates. They believe that weighing the affairs of colleagues in Sanders County is a conflict of interest. But Shaw insisted that they keep going: "It's like: Who are we serving? Are we serving partners in the justice system who cannot handle their own mistakes? Or are we serving survivors? When we try to It is not good for us to be ashamed when the prosecutor defends the survivors in an unfavorable way."

On October 27, 2020, Bellesen and Jasper appeared before Judge James Manley to try to lower the bail. Due to the pandemic, the public is invited to participate remotely through Zoom. Bail hearings are usually rarely attended—only a few dozen in good weather—but this time, Jasper remembers that the number of Zoom participants has been climbing.

"Judge Manley was a bit frowning. He just started looking at me and shook his head," Jasper recalled, smiling at the judge's confusion.

The number of participants on that day reached a peak of more than 100 people. In the evening, Belleson was released from prison, and her bail was reduced to $20,000.

This is a day of victory-but not exactly for Bellerson. She remembered that the most important thing was the stigma she experienced when she entered the bail hearing. Even if it were to be transported from the prison to the courthouse-a neighboring building-Bellerson said that her ankles and wrists had to be shackled, and a large belt was passed through her belly to secure her chain. By adding a mask to prevent the spread of Covid, she feels like Hannibal Lecter.

When she turned a corner and walked past the metal detector, she found herself face to face with her husband and children. This is shameful. "I had to walk past them wearing those chains and everything. I was not allowed to look at them," she said softly.

Then there is the court itself. On her left, a TV is set up to show Zoom participants. The screen is full of small squares, and each square represents a different viewer. It felt like the whole world was watching—and she was there, looking like a murderer. Bellerson knew that Grace had other relationships after her marriage. But she never knew how violent these relationships were. She didn't know that other women were also raped: "I thought it was just me." But in the court that day, Jasper called a witness who Belson knew personally: Jasmine Sayler. She and Grace met in the winter of 2010, when Saylor was a single mother working in a casino. A few months later, they dated.

At first, Grace seemed to be polite and caring about others. But then began insults and accusations. When Seiler became pregnant with the first of their two children in 2013, Grace became physically violent. From there, the aggression will only intensify.

Sayler remembered an incident when her son was four years old: Glace pushed her to the coffee table, his forearm was on her throat, his fist was holding a handful of her hair. When her son rushed in and shouted: "No! Don't hurt Mom!" She felt like a shell of the person she used to be. Even her children were affected. The slightest disturbance caused them to fall into a terrifying situation. Once, a FedEx courier knocked on the door unexpectedly. "I found them in the kitchen, and my son is protecting my little daughter with a butter knife." Seiler paused. "They were seven and five years old at the time."

Sayler said that she no longer counts how many calls she has made to the police on Glace—how many times her neighbors have called, and how many calls her children have made. Every time when the authorities arrived, Glass either settled down or left the house. No action was taken. "What people don't understand is that men, women and children are not just sitting there and being abused, doing nothing," she said. "They also don't understand that people really try to leave, but when you try to leave, that's more dangerous."

Sayler is one of two women charged with felony assault against Glace in the spring of 2020. But even after Sayler and her children participated in the Montana address secrecy program as part of a protective order to prevent Glace from leaving, Sayler still had to defend his manipulation. She said he used family and friends to gather information about her whereabouts. When speaking to the court over the phone at Belleson's bail hearing, Seiler remembered being asked if she was afraid-not of Grace, but of Belleson.

This question alone made her angry. Her answer is fact: no, absolutely not.

The evidence of Glass's previous attack is overwhelming. There are a series of police reports dating back to his time in Washington State.

But what Jasper needs to know are the details of Belleson's self-defense-these details can help dispel any argument that this is a "execution," as a police detective put it. After all, the same history of abuse can be considered a premeditated murder motive.

Jasper knew that the prosecutor had the responsibility to prove that, without a doubt, Bellesen's actions did not constitute self-defense. But he also realized that across the country, defendants with a history of sexual violence are often put in prison, even though they claim to worry about their lives. These include high-profile cases such as Cyntoia Brown, Nicole “Nikki” Addimando and Marissa Alexander.

Research shows that juries can bring powerful misunderstandings into court, including the idea that an abused partner can simply withdraw from the relationship. A 2012 report found that 62% of mock jurors believed that assaulted women were convicted in self-defense cases because they should find an alternative to killing.

Jasper must find a way to make Bellesen's fear real in court. In her panic, Bellerson took action that even Jasper couldn’t understand: How did she shoot Grace five times in the most stressful moment, and she only remembered pulling the trigger twice? Why did she wait to call 911? Why did she throw away Grace's shirt and phone when she drove away?

He must explain the psychological damage that domestic violence may cause. Belleson's future depends on it.

"If you really lose, you know that innocent person is likely to spend most of their life in prison," Jasper reminded himself. Therefore, he decided to form a "million-dollar defense": a group of experts, working for free, which he called "Team A".

Jamie Merifield is one of the gun experts, medical experts, and legal advisers convened by Jasper. Merifield is a blonde with short curly hair. She was born and raised in Montana. She worked as a police detective for 12 years, specializing in domestic and sexual violence.

She also happened to have first-hand experience of sexual assault. She said that her abuser was a companion detective, a good person that everyone seemed to like: laugh fast, laugh fast. In 2007, she claimed that he trapped her in her chair, spread her legs and put her knees between them, while "verbally berating" her.

"When I was beaten, I was scared," Merrifield said. The distrust of many sexual assault survivors in the criminal justice system is a problem she has worked hard to solve, even as a member of the police force. "I didn't say anything for six weeks."

Merrifield's case against Belleson is outstanding in that she has never been treated as a victim. Bellerson was handcuffed before the police determined whether she needed medical attention.

"Enforcement is a work of power and control, and so is domestic violence. The difference is that law enforcement should be on the right side," Merrifield said.

When Merrifield’s task was to review police procedures, clinical and forensic psychologist Sarah Baxter was taken to help unravel the dynamics of abuse.

In states where outsiders are sometimes suspicious, Baxter is proud of her being from Twodot, an agricultural town named after the dots used by local herders to mark herds. Her goal is to clarify why Belleson takes actions that may be difficult for others to understand.

"Sometimes child sexual abuse survivors seem to really repeat this pattern and interact with people who are also often abused," Baxter said. "They can't read dangerous situations well. Instead of learning from their experiences, they seem to be going to repeat these experiences to some extent." Baxter added that judges and juries may have difficulty understanding this mentality. "This can turn into blame for the victim, like people would ask,'Well, why does she drink? Why does she go to the X, Y, or Z position?'"

Baxter also believes that the burden of raising children together played an important role in Bellerson's decision. "This is a failure of our legal system, because when domestic violence occurs, we cannot figure out how to manage the co-parenting relationship very effectively," she said.

For Bellerson herself, the challenge is how to survive her trauma. Jasper worried that if she studied the incident in depth during treatment, she might sound like she had rehearsed in the witness stand.

"When you are on trial, you don't want someone to have to [with counsel] deal with these issues. All of this must be primitive," Jasper explained. "It needs to be as real as possible." But this is difficult. "I really just try not to think about it," Bellerson said. She devotes herself to household projects: repainting the kitchen, baking, and watching a lot of what she calls "stupid TV." Sitting in front of her black Janome sewing machine, she threw herself into quilting for the first time in years, putting together small pieces of fabric into an extra-large blanket.

Her daily life was turned upside down. In the past, she and Corey used to eat brunch in a small cafe every weekend, where the waiter knew your name. But the events of October 2020 prevented this. "I don't think we have been back to that place twice since October," Corey said.

When they first tried to go out, when they were eating at the famous Dave’s Grill, the local newspaper had Rachel’s face on the cover. Guests can read the copy at the entrance of the restaurant.

"Of course it was shit, it was sitting there when we walked in," Corey recalled. When his wife sat down at a table, Corey had obviously shaken, and he forgave himself. He walked to the pile of newspapers and turned them upside down.

"I don't think one day we will spend this day without being reminded," he said. "We have always accepted the fact that if [the trial] goes wrong, this may be the end." Bellesens claimed to be an introverted family, and the attention of the media and the pressure of the case made them shrink even more. The article recounts the history of Beileson’s addiction and suicide, leaving her in anxiety and shame.

Knowing that her friends and colleagues in Abbie Shelter could be called potential witnesses, Bellesen could not contact them. "I was excluded from the services provided by my agency," she said.

Her children support her, but she is keenly aware that they are also sad — and she is the one who killed their father. She comforted them as much as she could, but her past threatened her. "Not only did it all come out suddenly—all the memories were as vivid as those that just happened—but now the whole world knows it," Bellerson said.

Grace's voice kept echoing in her mind: "No one will believe you."

Bellerson desperately wanted to stay in bed until the whole ordeal was over. But as months passed and the winter snow began to melt, the defense team proposed a new strategy: repeat it at the location that happened on the afternoon of October 8. "I was horrified. I didn't want to do that," Bellerson said, frowning at the thought. At that time, she was cooperating with A&E to produce a TV documentary about her case. The legal team will record a reenactment of her defense, and the A&E staff will film it for television.

On the day of the reenactment, Bellesen’s shirt had three sets of microphone cords. All eyes are on her. She plucked up the courage to remind herself that this was an opportunity to tell her story: if the media were to talk about her anyway, she might as well let her speak. Especially there was a moment that caught her off guard. She looked up and saw that the dummy at the crime scene was in the same position as Grace lying down after being shot. "Everything is exactly the same as at that moment," Bellerson said. "It's all coming like a tide. It's like I was hit by a semi-truck." Baxter saw her as Bellerson bent down. "I thought she would vomit, but she was just panting."

But despite the pressure, the defense team hopes that a repeat of the evidence will help support them - and persuade Montana's Assistant Attorney General Chris McConnell to dismiss the case. In April, the prosecution seemed to ease. It submitted a motion to dismiss the case on the grounds that it faced difficulties in meeting the high burden of proof. But in the last paragraph, the prosecution added an ominous omen: it is hoped that it will be "decided in the future" whether to reopen the case.

Jasper said that the language angered him. "I think I have never been so angry in my life. When I am fired, I should have a dance," he said.

The possibility of Bellesen being rechargeable makes his customers vulnerable to attacks. She will most likely not have the same resources as Jasper in the future. And because there is no statute of limitations for the intentional homicide allegations, this case will be pending for the rest of her life.

"It frustrates me," Jasper said, swearing boldly at the thought of it. He raised his voice and emphasized that self-defense is completely legal: "The country pats someone on the back and says,'Do you know? You did comply with the law. That's why it is here. It is here to protect you.' "

For Jasper, the evidence is clear. "She didn't escape the murder. She saved herself from being murdered."

Bellerson also found himself full of anger. "It's a slap in the face," she said. She decided at the time that she was willing to risk trial instead of living with imminent criminal charges. She has finished keeping silent.

On May 25th, Isaac Glace had to cheer up to appear in court. He doesn't know if the hearing is another step in sending his mother to prison-or if it will lead to her freedom. He felt so nervous that he forgot to take off his sunglasses when walking into the court of District Judge Amy Eddy. Lance Jasper and his mother are already seated; supporters and experts are also preparing to testify in court.

But there was also a counter-protest: about 10 people wore shirts with the slogan "Jake for Justice". From the beginning, Belleson and her supporters were nervous. They are pushing for the seemingly impossible: hiring with bias to prevent prosecutors from pursuing the case again. After hearing the arguments of the prosecution and defense lawyers, Judge Eddie announced that she was ready to make a decision immediately. On the grounds of Belleson's constitutional rights and lack of substantive unresolved evidence, she announced that the case had indeed been rejected-with prejudice. Rachel Bellesen looked up in relief. "I think I kept holding my breath while she was talking. Then when she said that, it was like all the air rushed into my body," she said. "It's really indescribable—maybe it's completely opposite to the feeling when the first judge said'punishable by death'." Jasper himself has been keenly aware of the ups and downs of the court: "At first you thought you won. Then You lose, you win, you lose." When he felt that the judge was about to hand her a final sentence, he did something he wouldn't normally do: He glanced at the person's face. "So I turned around and looked at her. For a moment I will never forget-seeing that weight has been reduced, that belief returned to her in a way I can't describe."

This decision was unexpected, and Isaac didn't even realize that his mother had won, until he began to hear applause. A sense of relief came to my mind, as if his life had returned to hope. "There will always be tomorrow," he recalled. "There must be a future."

Isaac believed that his mother’s legal victory sent a message: “If it can happen in a small town in Montana, it can happen anywhere, although it is unlikely.” He is now in college, Study criminology. His goal is to help families like him.

When Bellerson woke up the morning after the verdict, she did not feel the elation she had expected. Instead, she was swallowed by depression.

"I don't understand why I feel this way," she said. "I thought,'The best results one can expect happened. I got what we were fighting for. Why am I unhappy?'"

Everyone around her was struggling with similar emotions, big and small. For Hilary Shaw, executive director of Abbie Shelter, this was a sentence from the Associated Press that caught her deeply.

A supporter of "Justice for Jack" told reporters, "She killed my best friend and left there because she knew the right person, she knew what to say, and she knew what she was doing. "

These words are very profound. "When Jack's friend said,'She knows all the right people,' it makes me miserable," Xiao said. "It's not that I think he is right, but that Rachel used her relationship unfairly or immorally to get unjust results. But because Rachel has connections with all the right people, she does Received more support than most survivors. As a service provider, we have to admit this."

Corey Bellesen (Corey Bellesen) is also struggling to deal with the anger he felt when reading social media reactions-comments like this: "Money can buy freedom." He understands the source of these reactions to a certain extent. . "You should be innocent until you are proven guilty. But in fact, if you can't prove your innocence, then you are guilty," he said.

He estimated that his family’s out-of-pocket expenses were between US$30,000 and US$40,000, only for travel, medical expenses, prison calls, and the alcohol monitoring bracelet that Bellesen was forced to wear.

When he recalled one time when he installed a camera on a truck, his nails were deeply stuck in his crossed arms, fearing being followed by the police in Sanders County. If Jasper did not provide free legal services, he believed his wife would go to jail.

"I think if this is in the hands of the public defender, will we get such a favorable result? Absolutely not."

Bellerson himself expressed these concerns. She believes that factors such as race and class have a great influence on her, paving the way for success.

"If you are a victim of abuse, you may struggle with substance abuse and chronic, untreated mental illness," she said. "Also, if you really have to use deadly self-defense, then you will most likely not be the right color. You may not be a rich person. You will not be sober enough."

In the months after Judge Eddie’s decision, Bellerson and her family have been working hard to get rid of last year’s events. In June, Land Rover of Bellesen was released from police custody. After clearing the tape at the crime scene, Corey quickly sold it. He didn't want his wife to see it again.

Bellerson himself was able to return to work at Abbey Shelter in a new role: a community advocate. She lights up as soon as she speaks. As a craftsman, she has planned to paint a landscape painting on the wall of her new office: a window to a world that is always sunny.

When asked if she was afraid of the lingering suspicion in the community or the "Justice for Jack" crowd, Bellerson expressed sympathy instead.

"The abusers are manipulators, the best in their class. They don't just manipulate their partners. They manipulate everyone around them," she said. Grace's supporters may not know, she added, but they are also victims: "It's just another kind of victim. They were completely deceived."

Despite this, Bellesen is still working hard because she tried to redefine her life without the violence that shaped her. "Until the day of the hearing, I have struggled with one abuse after another, one terrible incident after another in my life," she said. "When you experience something like this over and over again, it becomes a part of you. It is written into your narrative, your inner belief system about yourself."

Her jaw was shaking. "I don't know how to live in those lives that no longer exist." These feelings began to fade, although the nightmare about Grace continued. Nevertheless, it was still painful for her to see the people she cared about fighting with the consequences of Grace's death. At least one is fighting mental health and substance abuse issues.

On October 8, 2020, after Belleson shot her abuser, she remembered thinking: "It can't be worse than this." But now she says it can—and it is. "I can honestly say that I would rather spend October 8th every day for the rest of my life," rather than watching her loved ones suffer, she said calmly.

Since her victory in the law, blessers have congratulated her. "I bet you are happy that your life is back to normal," they said. But Bellerson knew that life would not return to normal after the family attack. You can go back if you are not normal.

The only thing she can think of now is to discover who she might be without violence in her life-and move on from there.

In the United States, the domestic violence hotline is 1-800-799-SAFE (7233). In the UK, please call the national domestic abuse hotline on 0808 2000 247 or visit Women's Aid. In Australia, the telephone number for the National Domestic Violence Counseling Service is 1800 737 732. Other international help lines can be found at www.befrienders.org.