Chapter 3 Justice

I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of her.

I wasn't ready to say goodbye.

Maybe I never would be. But for now, I could stay here, in this space we shared, where every wall still remembered her.

That's when I knew.

Justice wouldn't come wearing a badge. It wouldn't come with a jury and a gavel. It wouldn't come with sirens and forms and subpoenas.

It would come through me. Because if the Lord moves slow, just a little slow, then sometimes He needs a little help.

The funeral, the condolences, the apologies from men in uniforms - none of it mattered. They said they were "looking into it." They said, "These things take time." But I knew better. Time wouldn't heal this wound. Time wouldn't return what I'd lost. Time would only bury it deeper, make it easier for them to forget what I never could.

I sat there in the dim light of the living room, the scarf still clutched in my hands, and I felt something settle deep inside me - heavier than grief, colder than anger. It was resolve, pure and sharp. No more waiting. No more trusting promises made by men who had no skin in the game.

My mom, still lying hopelessly on the hospital bed. That was the only person I was left with in the entire universe.

Was she gonna wake up? Maybe. Maybe not.

I rose quietly, and made my way to the bedroom. Macreen had been laid to rest and life was supposed to go on. Go on without her.

I pulled open the drawer of my nightstand. Inside, tucked beneath old receipts and forgotten scraps of paper, was the small revolver my father had given me years ago. "For emergencies," he'd said. Back then, I thought it was just paranoia, a relic from another time. Now, it felt like destiny.

I laid the gun on the bed, the weight of it vibrating up through the mattress. My hands were steady as I checked the chamber. Five bullets. Five chances. One person. I was sure. I wondered, briefly, if I would even need that many.

In the closet, I found her leather jacket - the one she always wore when she needed to feel strong. I slid it over my shoulders, the sleeves still carrying her warmth. I didn't look in the mirror. I didn't need to. I already knew who I was now.

The city outside was a black sea, broken only by the occasional streetlight, the hum of a distant car. Somewhere out there, walking free, was the man who had taken her from me. Somewhere, he laughed. Ate. Slept. As if he hadn't shattered a life beyond repair.

I felt abandoned. The law had abandoned me.

But I hadn't abandoned myself.

Justice wasn't coming.

I was.