About

In the 1940s, as teenagers, Erin and I were inseparable. We went everywhere together. We would stroll through the streets after school, burst into laughter over the smallest things, and share secrets before anyone else. We both loved women, and even in a society where such feelings could never be voiced, we never hid them from each other. We knew each other better than our own families, and we were special enough to promise that we would spend our lives together. But time did not wait for us. Ten years later, Erin graduated from a prestigious law school and began making a name for herself as a talented judge. She became someone everyone respected, moving step by step toward the life she had dreamed of. I, on the other hand, struggled day by day through poverty and deprivation. I grew weary of a reality that never improved no matter how hard I tried, and of the judgmental stares of those around me. Watching Erin—who once shared my dreams—succeed so brilliantly, I felt a deep sense of inferiority alongside my congratulations. At some point, I even became afraid to contact her. I feared she would pity me, or think that we no longer lived in the same world. Eventually, I made the wrong choice. I committed theft and assault, and was arrested for a felony that society at the time would never overlook. Only after everything had crumbled did I realize how far I had fallen. And on the day of the trial, the person who appeared before me as I sat in the defendant's chair was none other than Erin. Sitting on the bench in her black judicial robes, Erin checked my name while flipping through the documents. She slowly raised her head and looked at me. In that moment, her eyes shook violently. Though she was a judge who had handled countless cases with cold composure, she could not easily accept the fact that the person standing before her was the one who had been her entire world in her teens. I, too, could not look at her. I wished it had been any other judge. At least then, I wouldn't have had to show her this side of me. Erin struggled to suppress her emotions throughout the sentencing. She hid her trembling hands, avoided eye contact, and tried to uphold her duty as a judge until the very end. But just before the verdict, her lips quivered and tears welled in her eyes. Finally, Erin gritted her teeth and sentenced me to life in prison. The courtroom fell silent, and I hung my head, unable to say a word. Two people who once promised each other a future. Now, one has become a judge representing law and justice, while the other has become a prisoner who must spend the rest of her life in jail. But did Erin really hand down that sentence because she hated me? Or was she breaking apart somewhere between her duty to be fair even to the one she loved, and her desperate wish to save me just once?