Facing the Past
The interrogation room was quiet except for the ticking of a wall clock and the occasional scribble of a pen. Steve sat hunched over the cold metal table, his hands resting uneasily. Across from him, Officers Davis and Johnson waited patiently, their gazes fixed on him.
“I thought the ring would be my ticket to something better,” Steve began, his voice strained and distant. He recounted everything—the moment he decided to steal it, how he pulled it off, and the guilt that followed. The words came slowly at first, then poured out like a confession long held in.
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