As I left the courthouse, a chill wind whipped through the streets, mirroring the turmoil inside me. I clutched the folder to my chest, its weight a constant reminder of the unresolved questions swirling in my mind. My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me from my thoughts.
It was a message from my sister, Emily. “How did it go?” it read. I hesitated before typing back, “Complicated. Let’s talk later.”
The walk to the parking lot felt longer than usual, each step echoing the uncertainty of the situation I found myself in. I climbed into my car, the engine’s hum doing little to calm my nerves.
I needed answers, and I needed them soon. The idea of spending sixty hours on community service for a speeding ticket seemed absurd. I wondered how many others had been blindsided by similar surprises.
Back at home, I laid the documents out on the kitchen table, determined to understand every line, every clause. I spent hours poring over them, making notes and highlighting sections that seemed significant.
At one point, I called Mr. Hargrove, hoping for some clarity. “I’m just going over the documents,” I said, trying to keep my frustration in check.
He sighed on the other end of the line. “Look, it’s all pretty standard. Just pay the fine, and the community service goes away,” he repeated.
“But why wasn’t I informed about this from the start?” I pressed, my patience wearing thin.
There was a pause. “It must have slipped through the cracks. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he replied, his voice lacking conviction.
I hung up, feeling no closer to understanding the truth. There was a nagging suspicion in my mind that I couldn’t shake, a feeling that I was being kept in the dark for a reason unknown to me.
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