I didn’t cry when the car door shut.

Didn’t plead. Didn’t ask questions.

There’s a threshold — where adrenaline evaporates and exhaustion takes its place.

That was me.

The officer said “Attempted murder.”

I heard the words but didn’t feel them. They hung in the air like steam.

Then came three days inside a police station.

Three days of questions. Statements. Silence.

And on the fourth morning… court.

Not a dramatic trial — just the beginning.

A judge. A charge. A decision:

Remand at HMP Woodhill.

Woodhill wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.

It was clean, clinical — like being sorted into a drawer.

The staff moved with quiet efficiency.

No welcome. No hostility. Just process.

Paperwork. Pat down. Issued greys.

Then the cell.

A rectangle of silence.

No shouting. No banging. Just stillness.

I sat down, kicked off my shoes, and lay flat.

And I slept.

For the first time in days, I slept soundly.

Not peacefully — there’s a difference.

This wasn’t rest.

This was collapse.

Emotionally hollow. Physically gone.

I let the silence carry me.

Even the thoughts in my head gave up.

And that… was enough.

My Journey begins........