Every morningI shuffle the deckwith court datesstill foldedinside my chest. Justicehides somewherebetween seventy-eight cards. Not because cardboardcan change a judge’s mind— but becausehope needs somewhereto restbefore breakfast. The scaleshave felt unevenfor so longI’ve forgottenwhat balancelooks like. Still, I keep shuffling. Because faithsometimes sounds like cardstockagainst tired hands.

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