Page 72 of Beautifully Broken

At first, I clung to the idea that the truth was all that mattered, that if I just worked harder, dug deeper, the system would listen. That justice would rise naturally from facts, like sunlight breaking through fog. But now, now I know better.

Justice isn’t blind. It’s bought, bartered, and bruised behind closed doors.

I’ve seen it too many times, evidence conveniently “misplaced,” expert testimony twisted until black looks like white, the guilty and the powerful shaking hands in court corridors.

Meanwhile, the innocent sit in cold cells, forgotten.

Every time I file a report or present findings, a small part of me wonders if I’m helping to build a case for the right side or if I’m just another cog in a machine designed to protect whoever can pay the most. I used to be proud of my work.

Now it feels mechanical. Clinical. Detached.

Like I’m scraping paint off a wall that’s already rotting from the inside out.

I don’t even get angry anymore. Anger takes energy and hope.

What I feel is heavier—a slow, sinking kind of regret.

I chose this life, believing I could make a difference.

But the truth is, this system was never built for people like me to fix.

I’m just another piece of it now, watching the rot spread, too tired — too broken — to keep pretending otherwise.

This is why I decide it is time to leave.

To go out on my own and select the cases I take to make sure I can make a difference.

I need to give myself over to the truth and to honor Cali’s last wishes, it’s time I avenge her.

Because they think they can get away with it, but I am here to show them the error of their ways.