Isabella sat on the cold, metallic bed in her cell, with a small, tattered notebook in her lap. It was what she had now to try to make sense of her nightmare-a simple tool, yet in her hands, it was the beginning of far much more. She had been writing in it for days, jotting down each and every detail she remembered about the trial. With every word, another memory came to the fore, each sharper, more critical than she first had thought.Her hand danced across the paper, jotting down names, dates, moments that had passed unconsidered during her hearing: witnesses that seemed nervous, the security footage that never quite fit with the timeline-and Helen, that key witness, something off about her testimony that Isabella couldn't quite place yet.With a deep sigh, she closed the notebook and stared blankly at the grey concrete walls of her cell. Her mind was abuzz-the tiniest hint of hope making its slow way back into her heart. Maybe she could find a way to expose the truth. Maybe this wa
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