The air in Darren's office was heavy with silence, thick with unspoken words. Roselle sat across from him, her fingers clutching the edges of her sleeves, twisting the fabric until it wrinkled beneath her grip. She had played this conversation over in her mind countless times before stepping through his door, rehearsing her arguments, preparing herself for the resistance she knew would come.
Darren exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Roselle," he began, his voice measured, careful, as if she might shatter. "We’ve been through this before. The case was closed years ago. There’s nothing new that would justify reopening it."
Her jaw tightened. She had expected this, yet it didn’t stop the frustration from clawing at her ribs. "But what if there’s more to it? What if the confession was forced? I need to hear him say it in court. I need—" She faltered, biting down on her lip, willing herself to keep her voice steady. "I need to know for sure."
Darren sighed, rubbing his temples. "Roselle, you’re looking for something that might not exist. I understand that this is painful, but pushing this case to court isn’t going to give you the closure you think it will. Sometimes, the truth is exactly what it seems."
"No." Her voice came out sharp, cutting through the room. "You don't understand. He never drank alcohol, I don't believe this recording. Not once. Something isn’t right. I just—" She inhaled shakily. "I just need you to help me. Please."
Darren’s expression softened, but his response was firm. "I can’t, Roselle. I won’t put you through that. You've already heard the recording, haven't you?"
She left his office that day with a lump in her throat, her nails digging crescents into her palms. But she wasn’t going to stop. She couldn’t. The doubt in her mind wouldn’t let her.
---
Days turned into weeks, and she found herself returning to Darren’s office more times than she cared to count. Each time, she was met with the same answer. No. A firm shake of the head. A reluctant apology. A reminder that she should try to move on. But how could she? How could she pretend to be okay when every time she looked at her father, the questions grew louder?
She sat at her desk one evening, surrounded by case files and old newspaper clippings, her laptop screen illuminating her exhausted face. She had read every article, analyzed every detail, looking for something—anything—that would justify taking this to court. But she was no lawyer. She didn’t know how to argue this in a way that would make it matter.
Her phone buzzed. Darren.
She stared at the screen before answering, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes?"
"Come to my office tomorrow," he said. "Eight in the morning."
She sat up straight. "Why?"
A pause. Then— "Let’s talk about your case."
_______
When she stepped into Darren’s office the next morning, she was met with a different kind of silence. One that was expectant. Heavy with unspoken possibilities.
He folded his hands on the desk. "I’m not promising anything," he said, "but I’m willing to take a look. If you’re sure this is what you want."
She swallowed, her throat tight. "I’m sure."
And for the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breathe.
Darren studied her for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning her face as if searching for hesitation. When he found none, he exhaled through his nose and leaned back in his chair.
"Alright," he said, pulling open a drawer and retrieving a thick folder. "I'll go through the case files again, but this isn't going to be easy, Roselle. The case was closed years ago, and getting a judge to reopen it will take more than just doubt. We need substantial grounds."
Roselle sat rigid, her hands clasped in her lap. "And what if we find them?" she asked.
Darren's expression darkened. "Then we prepare for war."
The weight of his words pressed down on her, but Roselle didn’t waver. She had spent too long drowning in uncertainty, questioning the very foundation of what she believed to be true. If she was going to tear her world apart, she needed to do it right.
"I'll get whatever you need," she said, voice steady. "Just tell me what to do."
Darren hesitated before nodding. "I'll file a motion to petition for a reinvestigation, but in the meantime, I need you to prepare yourself, Roselle. Once we start this, there's no turning back."
She knew that. She had known that the moment she stepped into his office.
"Do it," she said.
Darren exhaled, then reached for his phone.
Roselle sat still, feeling the invisible tremors of a decision that would change everything.