Ryan’s smirk was gone now, replaced with wide eyes that darted between his mother and the judge. For the first time, he looked cornered. “Mom, you can’t just—”
“Yes, I can,” Karen interrupted. “Because if I don’t, you’ll end up in prison before you’re twenty. Or worse, you’ll end up in a coffin because you pushed too far.”
The bailiff shifted uncomfortably at her blunt words.
Karen wiped a tear with the back of her hand. “Your Honor, I can’t keep saving him. If you believe detention will help, then send him. If you think harsher punishment is needed, do it. But please—don’t let him walk out of here thinking he can keep living like this. He needs to know he’s not above the law. Even his own mother won’t stand by his lies anymore.”
The prosecutor glanced at Karen, startled but impressed by the raw honesty. Then she spoke, suggesting a year at a juvenile rehabilitation center rather than traditional detention, a place where Ryan could get structure, counseling, and job training. His defense attorney, clearly realizing how little ground he had left, conceded that intervention was necessary.
