I never told my son-in-law that I was a judge who had spent her entire

A hush fell over Le Jardin, the air tense with a kind of primal energy that crackled like electricity. The other diners looked up from their plates, glancing between us with a mix of curiosity and discomfort. I could feel the eyes of the entire room on me, gauging what this frail-looking woman would do next.

I didn’t waver, not even for a moment. My resolve was forged in the fires of countless trials, each one a testament to my commitment to justice. I had seen the worst of humanity, and I recognized it now in Marcus’s eyes—a gleaming, unrepentant malice that I had sentenced to the confines of prison cells many times before.

“Marcus,” I began, my voice steady and unyielding, “you have no idea who I am, do you? You see, for decades, I was the deciding factor in whether men like you saw daylight through iron bars. I know your type all too well.”