The charges follow, stripped of context and humanity. Aggravated electronic fraud. Corporate espionage. They sound like they belong to someone else. I search for myself inside those words. The woman I know, the one with a résumé, a life.
I find nothing.
Here, I am not a person. I am paperwork. A case number. Another process waiting to be cleared from the stack.
The public defender asks for provisional release. His voice is flat, almost deferential. He doesn’t argue so much as recite: first-time offender, clean record, fixed address.
The judge doesn’t look up. “Denied. Given the technological nature of the offense, there is an imminent risk of remote destruction of evidence. Preventive detention is maintained.”
My lawyer, if that word applies, nods and closes the folder before I fully understand what just happened. He doesn’t protest. There’s no follow-up.
I played with fire, convinced I was the one controlling the flame. Now I’m the one burning.
My body reacts before my thoughts catch up. My legs shake beneath the table. My fingers go numb. A hand touches my shoulder and I don’t even flinch.
“Let’s go.”
I extend my wrists. They lead me back into the corridor, already finished with me, while the judge calls the next name and the world keeps moving.
March
I’ve lost track of how many days I’ve been here.
Nothing in this place is meant to be bearable. We wake to metal crashing against metal. We’re fed a lukewarm, colorlesspaste. I share space with women who have already given up on passing as human.
And I... I have to believe I’m different.
On the first day, I didn’t look away. On the second, I stayed upright. On the third, I let my disgust show when the stench hit.
I don’t know how to exist without the arrogance and superiority of someone who once controlled everything, who could have anything in a blink. And in here, it’s the only defense I have.
It’s a mistake. One I quickly learn not to repeat.
It happens in the dinner line. The “soup.”
I’m exhausted. Starving. A woman bumps into me. She’s large, her skin damp, her body reeking of sour sweat. She doesn’t even register the contact.
But I do.
I feel her arm brush against mine and I don’t think. I just react, my hand swiping down my sleeve, wiping away her touch. The sound leaves my mouth before I realize it’s there.
It’s small. Almost nothing. But it shows my disgust.
“Watch where you’re going,” I say. My tone never shifts. I speak as if she’s an inconvenience I can dismiss.
The line stops. And in that instant, I understand what I’ve done. Here, being who I am is a liability.
She turns.
“What was that, princess?”
“I said watch where you’re going. Don’t touch me,” I say, trying to seem in control.
Mistake number two. I don’t even see the movement. Her hand comes open, claw-like. She grabs my hair and yanks my head down.
“Who do you think you are?” she screams.
A hot blinding pain comes first. A knee slams into my face and I taste copper in my mouth. I hit the filthy floor. I try to rise, to impose authority I don’t have anymore.
