In April 2024, my cousin Alan was delivered to federal court in San Francisco for his sentencing hearing.

It had been just under a year since the jury found him guilty of hiring someone to kill his ex-wife, Priscilla.

The maximum sentence for this crime is 10 years.

The cast of characters, the judge, the public defender, the prosecutor, and Alan were back

in the same courtroom. All of them seemed the same, except maybe Alan. He was contrite,

genuinely filled with regret, or so it sounded to me. He apologized to Priscilla, who was listening on Zoom.

He promised that he would never again do anything to harm her or the children.

He talked about his decision to reject a plea deal and go to trial,

and for a minute he didn't sound like Alan at all.

He said that the trial had made him see himself as the jury saw him.

It was embarrassing to listen to those recordings, he said.

Your Honor, I'm prepared to serve any sentence, Alan told the judge.

If he got the maximum, 10 years, he would be almost 60 when he was released,

and it would be hard to start over.

But he said he had already suffered the biggest punishment.

His voice cracked.

He had lost all access to his children.

And he continued,

The torture I suffer every day comes from my awareness of the impact I've had on my mom.

He was really choking up now.

I felt something welling up in my throat, too.

Alan was no longer dressed like a dad returning home from work,

...