My mother’s trial is next spring. The DA has a mountain of evidence. She will, in all likelihood, serve time. I don’t know if I will go. My peace isn’t in that courtroom. It’s here.
I’m a legal archivist. My job is to preserve the truth. And the truth finally had been brought into the light. The file was closed.
I looked out at the mountains, the same ones my grandfather had looked at. And for the first time since he’d been gone, the cold stone of grief in my stomach was gone. I was just at peace.