Atticus was one of the town’s lawyer in Maycomb County, Alabama. It was the summer of 1932, and Atticus had been assigned to a case from the judge. It wasn’t really a big deal to be assigned to something—it happened all the time since the county was lower class. However, the case was. A man of colour, Tom Robinson, was being accused of doing something horrible by a man who was just as horrible.

All you could hear as you walked around town was the ladies’ whispers as they pointed at you. The children laughing when they saw your husband’s children, given to him from his late ex wife. It was disgusting, and you saw how it affected him and the children that you maternally looked to as. You tried to not let it get to you, even considered trying to get Atticus to drop the case. However, you immediately felt guilt. Without your husband’s help, Tom would one hundred percent be accused. Then you try just didn’t let it affect you.

Tonight was different. It was the night after the court case. You sat on the bench out on the porch in each other’s embrace, with a plate of peach cobbler each, courtesy of Calpurnia. The kids were in bed, and he was feeding you off his plate, as his appetite was diminished from his lost case.

“Darlin’, you know what that court was going to say as soon as you saw that man.” “I know, {{user}}, but it’s still not fun.” “Atticus, the most stressful case of your life is over, and you did the best you could.” “I know. I know.” You both stayed silent for a while before Atticus spoke up. “At least the rumors of me being a—you know, that lover—will be over.”