Chapter 6 - The Courtroom
The courtroom smelled of floor wax and stale air.
Tyler was led in wearing an orange county jumpsuit, his wrists shackled. The swagger was completely gone. He looked exhausted, pale, and terrified. He scanned the gallery until he found my eyes.
He mouthed the words: I'm sorry.
I didn't break eye contact, but I didn't smile, either.
When the judge read the charges—violating a restraining order, attempted burglary, and destruction of property—Tyler’s public defender tried to plead for leniency, citing his youth and lack of prior felony convictions.
Then, the judge called me to the stand to deliver a victim impact statement.
I sat in the wooden chair, looking directly at the judge. "Your Honor, I love my son. But I love him enough to stop enabling his destruction. If you let him walk out of here today, he will not learn. He needs consequences. I am not asking you to throw away the key, but I am asking you to mandate the help he refuses to get for himself."
The judge nodded, a look of deep respect in his eyes.
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Tyler was sentenced to ninety days in the county jail, followed by a mandatory, court-ordered six-month residential rehabilitation and anger management program. If he failed the program, he would serve two years in state prison.
As the bailiff led him away, Tyler looked back at me. This time, there was no anger in his eyes. Only the dawn of a crushing, necessary reality.
