How do we compare the heroics of a split-second decision with the nerve to endure over time?

How do we contrast the valor of an action with the gallantry of restraint?

For Coryleigh "Cee" Gambino, courage has encompassed every one of those elements — from the day last August when her husband left her battered and unconscious on her mother's front porch near Northlake Mall, until last Friday, when she faced her husband in a Charlotte courtroom.

Gambino, 23, of Huntersville came to Mecklenburg County District Court prepared to recount the "emotional blackmail" and physical violence that had marked her brief but frightening marriage to Andrew Straughter, an Army medic stationed at Fort Bragg. It was the weight of that potential testimony that led Straughter to accept a deal to plead guilty to charges of assault on a female and injury to personal property, in exchange for a sentence of 18 months of supervised probation.

Straughter, 25, also must complete a state-approved batterer intervention program, come no closer than 500 feet from Gambino at any time, and turn over all of his weapons.

A victory for a victim committed to being a victim no more?

Not yet, says Gambino, who came to court Friday ready to tell her side of a haunting story. She never got the chance.

"I'm glad he pled guilty," Gambino says. "But it's unfortunate that I didn't get to testify."

Straughter's plea meant Gambino couldn't tell the court about the mind games her husband employed to control her. About the bone-chilling imagery in a two-page handwritten letter Straughter left for his wife on a stack of her Nicholas Sparks novels ("I would torture you to the brink of death, laughing endlessly at the tears in your eyes as you gasped for air. Chains would tear at the corners of your mouth, warding away any joy. ..."). About the bone-crushing blow Straughter delivered to the left side of Gambino's face that left her unconscious.

"I don't plan to quit until the military takes action," Gambino says. "I'm hoping for a less-than-honorable discharge."

The Army was still reviewing Straughter's case at press time and had no comment, according to a Fort Bragg spokeswoman.

No honeymoon

Gambino's marriage to Straughter began with a courthouse ceremony in December of 2010. It effectively ended eight months later, when the rage Gambino had seen simmering in her 250-pound husband exploded in a frightening display of violence.

This was no longer about mind games, about threats whispered in public through the facade of a smile, about physical force applied strategically to leave no marks.

On that August day, the confrontation began in the bathroom of Gambino's mother's house, where Straughter, enraged by what he'd overheard in a conversation between his wife and his mother-in-law, slammed Gambino's head against the sink. The exchange spilled outside to the front yard.

"I'm going to (expletive) kill you, you (expletive)!" he shouted at her. "I'm going to (expletive) kill you!"

Straughter went back into the house and took the keys to Gambino's car before coming back outside. When Gambino noticed that Straughter had left his .45-caliber pistol on the front seat of his Camaro, she grabbed the gun and tried to run inside.

"I turn to see how far behind me he is," Gambino says, "and he tackles me. My head hits the brick wall (of the porch)."

The stunned Gambino felt elbows pummeling her. She screamed for help, but was drowned out by Straughter's tirade.

"I'm going to (expletive) kill you!" he yelled on a seemingly endless loop.

Straughter gained control of the gun, then smashed it into Gambino's right hand. The next thing she remembered, Gambino was watching as Straughter spun his Camaro in circles in the front yard and shouted, "I (expletive) hate you!"

Gambino realized she'd been unconscious. For how long, she's still not sure.

"I didn't know if it was his fist or the butt of his gun," Gambino says, "but he knocked me out."

The side of her face throbbed and her left eye began to swell, but not so much that she couldn't see Straughter's Camaro finally driving away.

Cee Gambino's emergence from unconsciousness on the front porch of her mother's house that day also marked an emotional awakening. As the brake lights on Straughter's Camaro disappeared down the street, so did Gambino's blind devotion to the man whose pent-up rage had finally exploded in a fit of brutal violence.

Gambino resolved to see justice done against her husband and, despite doubts that haunted her as menacingly as the echos of her husband's threats, she saw the process through.

"It was a good day," says Amanda Giannini, the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department detective who worked Gambino's case, referring to Straughter's Jan. 6 plea.

It was a good day because justice was done, Giannini says, and because only a fraction of domestic abuse situations are ever prosecuted. The difference in this case? A courageous and relentless victim who elected not to be the victim anymore.

"I'm extremely pleased with how the case turned out, particularly with the prosecution witness," says Mecklenburg Assistant District Attorney Mary Latrick, who prosecuted the case.

And in this case, "Cee" clearly stands for courage.