"Yes, you should have," Maya agreed bluntly.
The judge smiled ruefully. "You don't pull punches, do you?"
"Pulling punches is a luxury we can't afford, Your Honor."
"No, I suppose not." The judge sat down across from Maya. "I've been on the bench for 25 years. I've seen thousands of cases, hundreds of attorneys. I've never seen anything like what you did today."
"I did what I had to do."
"No," Judge Whitmore corrected. "You did what was right. There's a difference. Many people would have given up, accepted the plea deal, moved on. You fought for truth."
She pulled out a business card. "When you're ready, whether that's after high school or college, call me. I'll make sure you get into the best law school in the country. Full scholarship."
Maya took the card carefully. "Why?"
"Because the legal system needs more people like you: people who remember that justice isn't about winning, it's about truth." The judge stood to leave, then paused. "Your father raised an extraordinary young woman. Make sure he knows that."
"He knows," Maya said softly. "But I'll tell him again."
After the judge left, Maya found her father waiting in the hallway. Wordlessly, he opened his arms, and she collapsed into them, finally allowing herself to be a child again.
"I'm so tired, Daddy."
"I know, baby girl. Let's go home."
As they walked out of the courthouse, past the media trucks and the crowds, Maya looked back at the building where she'd fought for her father's freedom. The scales of justice carved into the stone seemed less like decoration and more like a promise—one that she'd helped keep.
"Dad," she said as they reached the bus stop.