The courtroom was silent except for the sound of the judge’s gavel.
A man stood at the defendant’s table, his hands trembling. His eyes were lowered, his shoulders heavy with regret.
He opened his mouth, ready to speak—ready to apologize, to explain, to show the weight of his remorse. But before a word could leave his lips, the judge raised a firm hand.
“That’s enough,” the judge said sharply. “You will not speak further.”
The man’s throat tightened. His voice was trapped inside him, unsaid, unwanted. He looked down at the floor, his heart aching with the words he would never deliver. The chance to show his regret—to beg for forgiveness—was taken from him.
And so he stood there in silence, his remorse clear to everyone, yet unheard by the one who held his fate.
