Brandon's POV
The cold glass of the bathroom mirror reflected a stranger for a split second. I gripped the edges of the marble sink, staring down at my hands, watching the faint tremor in my fingers before raising my eyes to meet my own reflection.
The dark charcoal suit hung sharp across my shoulders, crisp and tailored, a stark contrast to the faded denim and worn jackets I'd practically lived in over the past year. Today was the day. Graduation. A milestone that, six months ago, I wasn't even sure I'd live to see, let alone walk toward with my head held high.
I reached down to smooth the collar of my white dress shirt, my fingers brushing against the stiff silk of the black tie resting around my neck. As I fumbled with the knot, my mind drifted back to forty-eight hours ago—to the heavy, oppressive silence of the county correctional facility's visitation room.
