“When men wear suits and look down they get their sentences lowered; I dont have a suit, my mom barely managed to find this shirt for me. I won’t lie, there is also the joy of being able to survive that i can’t conceal. I’ve walked the corridors of these courthouses countless times, my face covered in bruises, for a restraining order. I didn’t have any other choice. If he hadn’t died, I was going to. He wasn’t going to tell you he had decided to pimp me out, he wasn’t going to talk about his plans of putting me in the arms of other men, he wasn’t going to tell you about the beatings I endured just because the eggplants were slightly overcooked, because the curtains were dirty, because there were leftover crumbs on the table. He wasn’t going to mention how many times I was hospitalized. There is a picture of me taken in the teahouse. I’ve smiled a bit lopsidedly. Maybe he was going to show you that picture and tell you I looked like a dishonorable woman. He was going to tell you he ‘cleansed my honor’ as if he wasn’t planning to pimp me out. You were going to sentence him to 3-5 years and pardon him because i had dishonored him and see my lopsided smile as provocation and feel sad for him. However, honor is mine Mr. Judge, I won’t leave it to anyone else just because I signed a paper.”
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