ALT I didn't want Brock to slip off the rails and punish more women, needed to be sure he was in therapy, taking classes in jail. So you want no more than a year, she said. I was confused, I had never said that. She explained that I had said "jail" and county jail has a one-year maximum. Prison has no maximum. Oh, I said. Well, do they offer classes in prison? I wondered why no one had explained this to me.

ALT 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. For months I had been climbing out of this hole, my hands finally gripping the edge. Now I watched the dirt turn to mud beneath my fingers as I slipped down again.