I Was Ready to Pass Sentence When I Realized the Woman in the Dock Was My Carbon Copy

I straightened, heat flooding my face. “We will take a brief recess.”

“Christal, is it you?”

In my chambers, my clerk asked, “Are you feeling unwell?”

I said, “I need to recuse myself.”

Her eyes widened. “Because of the defendant?”

“Yes.”

She hesitated.

“Do you want to put that on the record?”

I nodded. “I have a conflict of interest.”

That was the truth.

Just not the whole truth.

“I need to recuse myself.”
Another judge took over, and I walked out past Christal without looking at her.

I could feel her gaze burning into my back.
That afternoon, I sat alone in my office long after the staff left.

I stared at the wall and said, “You do not exist,” because that was what my parents had taught me to do when reality didn’t fit.

I didn’t go home. Instead, I walked downstairs to the records section.

I could feel her gaze burning into my back.
The night clerk frowned. “Judge? Everything okay?”

“I need archived family court records,” I said. “From the late 1970s.”

She blinked. “Those are sealed.”

“I am aware,” I said evenly. “I’ll sign whatever is required.”

She hesitated. “May I ask why?”

I lied. “Judicial review.”

She clearly didn’t believe me, but still unlocked the door.

“Those are sealed.”

The burglary case file said the victim was a retired social worker named Karen. My chest tightened.

The name scratched at memory.

I said to myself, “That can’t be a coincidence.”

The next day, I visited the address listed in the report.