Chapter 20 — The Quiet Voice

When the final sentencing was over, reporters swarmed the courthouse steps, and one thrust a microphone at me and asked whether I was satisfied with the verdict.

I kept walking and said nothing, because there was nothing to say.

Legal justice does not feel like satisfaction.

It did not give me back the months of safety I lost, or erase the memory of a lock turning from the outside, or repair a marriage built on a lie.

It only drew a line, officially, declaring that crimes had been committed and that the people responsible would answer for them.