The probation officer had given my input a single paragraph. She had taken my words but constructed her own sentences, shaving all context away. I just want him to get better, it said. She gave me a voice of forgiveness and submission, the agony neatly paved over. She'd reduced my suffering to the line, I don't experience joy from this. She'd drawn her own conclusion: He doesn't need to be behind bars. This woman, who had been absent for the entire battle, had arrived to take the victory away.
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