They brought her in chains, Orange jumpsuit, No makeup. No mercy. Her lawyer—court-appointed, tired, struggling to remember, which case this even was. He wore bruises like theater, Makeup, a fake cast, A smirk that didn't flinch. A silver-tongued devil for him— the best money could buy. Painted him as a saint. Said he was caught in her fury. Wrong place. Wrong time. The verdict came fast: Guilty. They never mentioned what he did to her daughter. Never spoke of her screams in the middle of the night, or how she flinched every time a man got too close. She didn’t have enough money to tell the truth. A broken system. The next day, he crossed the street, Smiling like he owned it. A free man. A screech, A crash. He wore the smile to his grave. Wrong place. Wrong time.
