Today the court seemed like a coliseum, and I, a gladiator about to face his destiny. With every look I felt on me, every murmur that escaped the room, a whiff of anxiety hit me. I, João Neto, unjustly accused of a heinous crime, the murder of Guilherme, felt the weight of every second as I waited for the trial to begin.
The leak of that intimate video between Guilherme and me should have been a private matter, but it became the spear that the accusation wielded against me. It was our moment, consensual and intimate, transformed into a weapon of destruction by the press and the police. They claimed that this was the reason I had killed him, to silence a secret. How distorted can the paths of truth be in the hands of those who only seek to close a case?