"Comm check...
Testing, one... two...
Kwes Boaz speaking.
...you a hear me?
Ah. You ever wake up and feel like something's...missing? That's my life. Seven years after. Now I'm back, but nothing's the way I left it. Not even me.
Amnija happened righ...
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FRIDAY | COURT DAY
I rubbed my hands together, my palms against each other in this frozen courtroom, watching as Qeyyz on the stand.
Dawg maths up the cross examination and was now undergoing redirect.
His small frame looked even smaller under the weight of everyone's attention. Eight years old, and blowing minds.
No Diddy.
He adjusted in the seat, legs dangling above the floor, loafers brushing against the wood. The court fell into a hush that wasn't even asked for.
We dressed the same. I wore white buttoned shirt, black pants and loafers. He wore the exact same fit.
"I used to have to sell stuff... fi guh school," he said calmly. "She never have no money. And her man used to beat har, so I used to hustle to send myself... and my well, her daughter to school."
Someone gasped.
"And what's your age again?" the attorney asked, gently, nailing her point.
"8."
"And how old were you when you had to be on the road selling weed?"
There was a pause. A shift in the room. Silence that clawed at the walls.
Then, he added. "7."
A single tear slipped down Nijaa's cheek, but she didn't make a sound.
Our lawyer looked at the judge with something you couldn't argue. The kind of look that says you see it, and if you don't act, you're part of it too.
"Nothing further," she said. Then took her seat, without another glance.
I felt goosebumps.
The judge stared forward, fists curled. She wasn't blinking much. She sat straight, chin high, but her mouth twisted.
Then she faced Janet.
"You knew," she said, every single syllable was emphasized. "You knew that child was not yours. You knew you didn't have the means. And you let him suffer!"
