Chapter 6: Michael's Unknown Side

David's POV

The afternoon sun filtered through the clouds, casting gentle light across the stone markers of Millbrook Memorial Cemetery, but it couldn't chase away the shadows in my chest.

I stood before the familiar twin headstone, holding a bundle of white lilies, feeling like an invisible weight was crushing my ribs. The carved names stared back at me: Robert Reynolds and Margaret Reynolds—two names I'd whispered every day for the past eight years.

"Sorry I'm late," my voice came out hoarse and tired in the spring breeze. "Route 9 construction had traffic backed up for miles. You know how much I hate being late, Mom."

I knelt down, running my fingers over the engraved date beneath my mother's name. May 12, 2015—that date was permanently etched into my nightmares. A drunk driver had stolen my entire world while I sat in Harvard Law's library, cramming for Civil Procedure.

I didn't learn about the accident until police showed up at my home, and everything I'd ever known just... collapsed. I remember collapsing on my dorm room floor, the cold linoleum beneath me as unforgiving as the news I'd just received. Later, at the morgue, I stood behind a wall of glass, unable to even bring myself to touch their already cold hands one last time.

"I met someone today, Dad." My voice started to shake, and that familiar burning sensation crept into my eyes. "A twenty-six-year-old girl who's been abandoned by everyone, just like... just like I was back then. The way her hands trembled when she spoke reminded me what real desperation looks like."

This was my annual ritual, my most painful form of self-torture. Every time I stood here, I remembered that phone call that changed everything, the emergency room where my parents' hands had already turned cold, the nearly empty church at the funeral—just the priest, a funeral director, and maybe three people from the community.

That complete isolation, that feeling of being abandoned by the entire world—it still ached somewhere deep in my soul.

I stayed quiet for nearly an hour, forcing myself to remember weekend afternoons when Dad taught me to play baseball, Mom baking birthday cakes while I made wishes. The spring wind carried the scent of cherry blossoms and new beginnings through the cemetery. But today, those warm memories kept getting interrupted by Jane Miller's voice—the way it broke when she said her pain.

"I know what it feels like to be abandoned by family," I whispered to the headstone, my fingers tightening around the lily stems. "I know that suffocating desperation when the whole world thinks you're guilty. Even when you're innocent, even when you're screaming to prove yourself, nobody wants to listen. Nobody wants to believe."

The weight of those memories pressed down on me—the relatives who'd disappeared after the funeral, the so-called family friends who'd stopped returning calls, the crushing realization that grief makes people uncomfortable enough to just... vanish.

"Could I really help her?" I looked at their names carved in stone. "But sitting here now, I realize... I can't walk away. Not from someone who reminds me so much of myself back then."

Ava's voice made me turn around. Detective Ava Martinez was walking toward me in civilian clothes, her dark curls moving in the wind. Seeing my old friend, I quickly wiped the moisture from my eyes and slipped back into that familiar professional mask.

"Ava." Surprise colored my voice. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"Come on, David. How long have we known each other? You've been coming here every year since your parents died." Detective Martinez stepped up beside me, concern flickering in her eyes. "So you really took her case? You could have referred her to another lawyer, you know."

I nodded and started arranging the flowers.

"Let's go," I said. "This isn't the right place to talk about the case."

We walked toward the cemetery exit together, our footsteps echoing clearly on the quiet stone path. I glanced back once at my parents' headstone, where the white lilies bloomed peacefully in the evening light. We walked in silence until the cemetery gates came into view, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us.

"So tell me about this case," I said, stepping around a puddle in our path. My voice had regained that lawyer's calm, though Ava could hear the exhaustion underneath.

Ava shook her head. "It's a slam dunk, David. No surveillance footage that night. We did a thorough search, found no other suspects. Jane Miller was discovered holding the murder weapon with blood all over her. No signs of struggle at the scene, no evidence of forced entry."

"But—"

"And that complication with Thomas Miller," Ava said, her tone turning serious. "You knew going in that the county medical examiner is her biological father, right? That he had to recuse himself?"

I nodded grimly. "Yeah, I saw it in the case file. They haven't spoken in years."

"So why take a case where even her own father won't touch it professionally? What does that tell you?"

I processed this information, feeling a complex mix of emotions rise in my chest. I remembered the pain that flashed across Jane's face when she'd mentioned her father in the meeting room, remembered my own sense of abandonment after losing my parents. "It tells me he has doubts. If he was completely certain Jane was guilty, he'd find a way to get involved in the case. His recusal might mean he's not sure about the truth, or..."

"Or?"

"Or he knows his daughter well enough to know she could never do something like this." My voice carried a conviction Ava rarely heard from me.

"Or," Ava said, worry creeping into her tone, "he just doesn't want anything to do with his daughter. Like a lot of fathers who choose to run away when crisis hits."

By the time we reached the parking lot, Ava turned to face me with a serious expression. The spring sunset cast soft light across her face, but her eyes held concern.

"Alright, tell me the truth. Why did you really decide to take this case? You're not the type of lawyer who specializes in losing, David. You never take cases without a fighting chance."

I leaned against my Honda Civic's door, silent for a long moment. Golden light played across my features, yet the weariness in my eyes remained unmistakable.

"Honestly?" I finally spoke, my voice carrying a vulnerability Ava had never heard before. "I'm not planning to win this case."

Ava frowned in confusion. "Then why take it?"

I looked toward the distance, where the courthouse dome gleamed in the sunset. I thought about the ambition I'd had fresh out of law school, about that young man who believed law could change the world. "Do you remember what I said when I graduated law school? That I wanted to give voice to the voiceless."

"I remember. Back then you thought you could save the entire world."

"But over these years, most of my cases have been procedural, technical. I forgot my original purpose." I turned to Ava, and she saw a light in my eyes she hadn't seen in years, along with deep pain. "Today, in that meeting room, I saw Jane's expression. It was desperation, but also hope. She needs someone to believe in her, even if it's just temporary."

"David—"

"When I saw how Jane's whole body seemed to shrink into that chair, I saw myself eight years ago—that crushing isolation when the whole world turns against you, and even family chooses to disappear. Her father's recusal from this case... it's just like how all those relatives and so-called friends vanished after my parents' funeral."

I paused, "I couldn't save my parents, Ava. I couldn't even save myself until years later when I finally learned how to survive. But maybe, maybe this time I can do something for someone who's just as alone. Even if we fail, at least she'll know someone believed in her."

"Today, for this moment, I can be somebody's hope. Maybe that's enough."

I got in the car and rolled down the window. "Come on, Ava. Let's go take a look."

Ava studied me for a long moment, her expression complex. "Alright."