The concrete steps are cold and hard against the backs of my legs, but I don't care. It's so cold my breath is steam. You stand in front of me; I'm looking down, but I would know those shoes anywhere. "Wanna talk about it?" you say in that voice of deep brushed velour, and I just close my eyes. I don't answer, don't see the point in saying anything about anything, but that voice just keeps wrapping around me. "You'll feel better."

I shake my head. "No, Sara, I won't. " I huff more steam. "When someone can do THAT to an innocent child and walk out of court a free man I don't think I need to be feeling better, not any time soon. Why are we doing this?" I feel warmth flowing across my face and realize I am crying, right here on the court steps.

She squatted in front of me and took my hands. "We're doing this because sometimes, USUALLY the system works. This time it didn't, and yes, I am angry, and I want to strangle that bastard with my own hands, but Greg, we will get him one day."

"That's the thing," I whisper. "I know that with this guy there will be another chance, because he's gonna do it again, and we have to sit back and wait until he does. There's a kid out there who's going to have his whole life unraveled, and we have to let it happen."

She doesn't say anything, just moves forward to rest her cool forehead on mine. "Come on," she says softly and stands to take my hand. "Let's go home."