Karen’s words seemed to echo against the paneled walls, louder than any gavel. Ryan blinked, his swagger breaking for just a second. The boy who had strutted in like a king now looked like a son cornered by the truth.
“Sit down, Mom,” he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual bite.
Judge Whitmore didn’t interrupt. He let the silence stretch, as though he knew this moment mattered more than any sentence he could hand down.
Karen’s voice shook, but her resolve didn’t. “You think this is all a joke, Ryan? I’m the one who bails you out. I’m the one who sits up at night wondering if the next knock on the door will be the police—or the morgue.”
The gallery shifted uncomfortably. Ryan’s public defender stared at his client, almost pleading with his eyes: listen to her.
Ryan’s smirk flickered back, weaker this time. “You don’t get it, Mom. None of you do.”
The judge finally leaned forward, his tone cutting through. “Then explain it to us, Mr. Cooper. Because this is your chance. Speak, or be spoken for.”
For the first time since walking in, Ryan hesitated. His fingers twitched inside the hoodie pocket. His jaw worked, but no words came. And everyone in that courtroom—judge, prosecutor, mother—waited to see if the boy who thought he was untouchable was about to unravel.