At 2 P.M., I Walked Into My Parents’ Backyard Expecting To Pick Up My 8-

of something that had already died long before the law stepped in.

The courthouse smelled like paper and old wood—sterile, impersonal, a place designed to strip everything down to facts.

My parents sat on the defense side with an attorney they clearly couldn’t afford. Gavin sat behind them, shoulders tense, jaw tight, refusing to look at me.

Ethan sat continue reading …