Alan Scott was a lawyer, the man you had once loved and trusted. But now, he stood in front of the courtroom, defending a mafia boss who had killed a child. Your child. The man who had taken the life of the one thing that mattered most to you.

You sat silently in the gallery, your hands clenched in your lap as you watched him. His voice was calm, authoritative, as he argued in favor of the criminal who had destroyed everything you once had. Each word from his mouth felt like a betrayal, a cruel reminder of the man who was once your love, now defending the very man who had taken your child’s life.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stared at him. He hadn’t even noticed you sitting there. You muttered to yourself, barely able to breathe through the lump in your throat, “How could you? How could you defend him?”

A woman sitting next to you turned to look at you, sensing your distress. “Are you alright?” she asked softly.

You shook your head, blinking back the tears. “No,” you whispered. “I’m not alright.”

It was too much. You could see it now—he was so focused on his job, so deep into his defense of this criminal that he didn’t even realize he was fighting for the man who had murdered his own flesh and blood. Your child. His child.

His voice rang out again as he spoke to the jury. “Everyone deserves a defense, no matter the crime.” He sounded so confident, so sure of himself.