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.

“However,” Thompson continued, “the defendant then risked his own life to rescue both victims, sustaining second-degree burns in the process. He has also cooperated fully with law enforcement, making no attempt to minimize his actions or shift blame.”

Judge Cooper made notes, her expression unreadable.

“I’ve read the pre-sentencing report. Mr. Patterson, I’m going to hear from the victims before I make my decision. Paul Patterson, please come forward.”

My legs felt weak as I walked to the witness stand. The bailiff held out a Bible.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do,” I said, my voice already shaking.

Thompson approached.

“Mr. Patterson, can you tell the court what happened over the past months?”

I took a breath and began. I told them about finding out about Brian. About bringing him to the farm. About the rumors that started spreading, though I hadn’t known Dennis was behind them. About the equipment problems. About finding Brian at the bottom of that ladder, broken and bleeding.

My voice broke when I described the fire.

“I woke up to smoke. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. Brian was trapped with me. We were going to…”