The days blurred into one another as Nathan sat in the cold, sterile cell of the police station, his mind swirling with thoughts of everything he had lost. The harsh lights above him cast shadows on the walls, making the reality of his situation feel even darker. He had always imagined his life going in a different direction—success, happiness, maybe even redemption. But instead, he had found himself here, facing the consequences of a single moment of unchecked rage. The cost of his actions had been steep, and now he would have to pay.
He had been arrested the night of Lewis's death, his hands cuffed, the weight of his brother's blood heavy on his conscience. The officers hadn't said much as they took him into custody, but the cold, accusatory stares had said everything. Nathan had tried to explain himself, to tell them that it had been a mistake, that he hadn't meant for it to happen, but no one was listening. His words fell on deaf ears. There was no going back from this.
Sarah hadn't spoken to him since that night. He couldn't blame her. She had witnessed the horror firsthand, and in the aftermath, she had been forced to make a decision—whether to stand by him or to turn her back completely. Nathan had expected her to hate him, to loathe him, and he couldn't argue with her decision. But that didn't make it any easier. The woman he had loved, the one he had fought so hard for, was now a distant memory. His actions had ruined everything.
The court case had begun two weeks later. Nathan sat at the defendant's table, his head lowered, his hands folded tightly in front of him. He could feel the eyes of the entire courtroom on him, all the judgment, all the anger, all the disappointment. His family—what was left of it—hadn't come. Sarah hadn't come. There was only his lawyer, trying to build some defense, some justification for what he had done. But it was hopeless. Nothing could undo the damage he had caused.
The prosecutor's voice rang out in the courtroom, sharp and unforgiving. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we are here today because of the actions of the defendant, Nathan Foster. In a moment of jealousy and rage, he took the life of his own brother, Lewis Foster. This was not an accident. This was not a mistake. This was a deliberate act of violence. And now, that man, Nathan Foster, must face the consequences."
Nathan's heart hammered in his chest as the prosecutor's words hit him like a physical blow. He couldn't deny it. He had taken Lewis's life. There was no getting around that. The guilt crushed him, weighed him down like a boulder.
His lawyer stood up, attempting to defend him. "Your Honor, my client recognizes the severity of his actions. He has shown remorse. What happened that night was not premeditated. It was a tragic accident brought on by a buildup of emotional turmoil. Nathan never intended to kill his brother."
But Nathan didn't need to hear the defense. He knew the truth. He had wanted to hurt Lewis. The rage he had felt in that moment had been overwhelming, and now it was too late to take it back.
Sarah's absence was palpable. He had hoped, at least, that she would be there—to give him a sign that she had forgiven him, that she still cared in some way. But she hadn't come. She couldn't come. The damage was done, and no apology, no matter how sincere, could undo the pain he had caused.
The days of the trial passed slowly, each one feeling like a year. The evidence against Nathan was clear. The blood on his hands was undeniable. And though the defense tried to argue that he had been provoked, that the anger he had felt in that moment had clouded his judgment, no one seemed willing to listen. Not in a case like this.
On the final day of the trial, the judge stood up, his expression somber as he addressed the court. "The jury has deliberated, and their verdict has been rendered. Nathan Foster, you are guilty of the second-degree murder of your brother, Lewis Foster."
The words hit Nathan like a punch to the stomach. Guilty. It was what he had known all along, but hearing it spoken aloud in the silence of the courtroom was suffocating. He didn't know how to feel. He had killed his brother, the one person who had been there for him, the one person who had loved him unconditionally. And now he was going to pay the price.
The judge continued, his voice calm and measured. "The sentence for second-degree murder is a minimum of fifteen years in prison. However, given the circumstances, I am imposing a sentence of twenty years, with the possibility of parole after fifteen."
Nathan's world tilted, spinning as if the very foundation of everything he knew was crumbling. He had heard the words, but they didn't register right away. Twenty years. Twenty years in prison. It felt like a lifetime. He was being stripped of everything—his freedom, his future, his chance at redemption.
The gavel slammed down, and the courtroom erupted into a murmur. The jury was dismissed, and the prosecutor and defense attorneys exchanged words, their faces unreadable. Nathan barely heard any of it. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat, deafening in his ears. His future was no longer his own.
He was led out of the courtroom in handcuffs, his head lowered, his legs heavy as if they had turned to stone. The courtroom doors slammed shut behind him, and the reality of what had just happened settled over him like a suffocating blanket.
As they took him away to begin the first leg of his sentence, Nathan's thoughts turned inward. He thought of Sarah—what she must be feeling now. The last time he saw her, she had looked at him with such hatred, with such raw pain in her eyes. He knew he had lost her, and in some ways, that hurt more than anything. He had betrayed her trust, destroyed everything they had been. But as he walked down the cold hallway, his footsteps echoing in the silence, he realized that it wasn't just Sarah who was gone.
It was everything.
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