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My heart pounds.
But I stand.
I don’t hesitate.
“Did you confess to driving the vehicle?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Was that confession true?”
I swallow once.
Then—
“No.”
The word lands.
Clear.
Strong.
Final.
“Why did you confess?”
The room goes still.
Waiting.
“Because Cathy asked me to,” I say. “She was dying. She didn’t want her parents to know she had been drinking.”
My voice doesn’t shake.
Not anymore.
“I told the truth after,” I continue. “To the police. To the lawyer. To my family.”
I glance toward the back.
Just for a second.
And there—
My mother.
Tears in her eyes.
Watching.
“They didn’t believe me,” I finish.
Silence.
Heavy.
Real.
