The drive to Ohio took six hours.
Six hours of Sofia chattering in the backseat, pointing out cows and trucks and everything else that caught her attention. Six hours of Rosa filling me in on everything that had happened in three years. Six hours of me trying to process that I was actually free.
"The prosecution might retry the case," Rosa said as we drove through Pennsylvania. "The lawyers said it's possible. But without Martinez's evidence, they don't have much. And the political climate has shifted. There's less appetite for going after organized crime when half the evidence was manufactured."
"So we might actually be done? Really done?"
"Maybe. The lawyers think they'll drop it rather than risk losing at trial. But nothing's certain yet."
I looked out the window at the world passing by. Trees. Towns. Ordinary life happening everywhere. Life I'd been cut off from for three years.
"How much did we lose? Financially?"
