After the trial ended and the verdict was in, I expected a sense of closure to follow. But instead of relief, I was met with a new layer of grief, one that no sentence could resolve.

There’s this unspoken expectation that justice will feel like a clean break, a moment where things settle and you finally get to breathe. But the truth is, it doesn’t always feel like triumph; it can feel like mourning.

When my stepfather went to prison, I thought the chapter would close and that justice would bring resolution. Instead, it created a new kind of grief. Some family members supported me, but others turned their backs, choosing denial over reality. The hardest loss was my stepsister, someone I had admired and trusted. The truth created a wall between us that couldn’t be mended, and though I understood her struggle, it didn’t make the loss hurt any less.

This journey taught me that justice doesn’t always bring closure; for me, closure is a myth. Justice is about accountability, about standing up to someone who thought they could silence me forever. It doesn’t erase the past, but it brings a small sense of peace in knowing the cycle of abuse has ended. Speaking out came with a price; I lost people I thought would always stand by me. Yet, it also taught me to value those who see and respect my truth. Some will always choose the comfort of lies over the discomfort of reality, but I’ve made peace with that. I wouldn’t trade my truth for anything, no matter how difficult it is to carry.