After burying my wife, I finally unlocked the barn she had never allowed me to enter. For 37 years, it had been sealed off, a place she insisted held nothing but old tools and useless clutter. I expected dust, silence, and memories long forgotten.

“Yes, Your Honor. The defendant has entered guilty pleas to charges of assault and arson. The prosecution is prepared to present our sentencing recommendation.”

I looked at Dennis. He sat at the defendant’s table in a dark suit, his posture rigid, his hands still wrapped in lighter bandages now, rested on the table. James Sullivan sat beside him, impeccable in his attorney’s attire, but I knew Dennis had refused to let him argue for reduced charges.

My son wanted to face the full weight of what he’d done.

Thompson began presenting the case.

“Your Honor, the defendant engaged in a systematic campaign against his half-brother, Brian Patterson. He spread malicious rumors, tampered with farm equipment, deliberately caused Mr. Brian Patterson’s fall that resulted in three broken ribs and a concussion, and ultimately set fire to a barn while both his father and brother were inside, fully aware they were trapped.”

Each word felt like a punch to my chest. Hearing it laid out so clinically, so formally, made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.