She did not cry describing the hours she’d spent staring at wooden walls, or the birthdays she’d missed in the dark.

Her voice broke only once — when she spoke of her mother.

“My mother died holding a lie they manufactured and sealed in a brass jar,” she told the courtroom.

“They didn’t only steal six years of my life.

They stole her whole future.” The wire recordings were played, and the room sat in silence as Radley’s own voice mocked an old man’s grief and called a widow’s death convenient.

There was a particular power in Sidonie’s composure at that lectern, and everyone in the courtroom felt it.