“It’s not worth prosecuting”, I was told after the detective had “lost” all the evidence. Evidence plucked, swabbed, and stripped from my shaking body—gone, and with it—my credibility. Even before that, the same detective had attempted to silence me with his shaming inquisition. And now it seemed he had won. But he hadn’t. I wouldn’t let him.
The way that I won, in spite of him, had nothing to do with spite at...
