TV.
In real life, it gets you buried.
My father knew that.
So I didn’t go back to Linda’s house.
I went to someone who could make truth matter in a courtroom.
Legal aid.
I walked into the office with the boxes and the flash drive and the kind of calm that comes after your life has already burned down once.
A lawyer named Marisol Grant met with me in a small room. She had sharp eyes and a tired face—the face of someone who has seen systems fail people
