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When the judge asked if I would plead guilty, my mother sat in the gallery, her eyes red from crying, and nodded. She was afraid I wouldn't understand, so she silently mouthed the word to me: "Confess." My father kept his head bowed. My older brother, Javier Foley, fixed his gaze on me, his eyes carrying a silent threat. Across the courtroom, the victim's family sat clutching a black-and-white funeral portrait. Noelle Foley, my adopted sister, was sitting in a wheelchair in a hospital gown. Her face was as pale as freshly cut paper. She had taken my place and gone to college. She had used my name to claim scholarships, earned a recommendation for graduate school, and secured an internship at a law firm. Now, after she drove drunk and killed someone, my family wanted me to take her name, her crime, and her prison sentence. Their reasoning was simple. "Ava, your life is already destroyed. Noelle can't be destroyed too." What they never knew was that I had been waiting for this trial for four years. When the clerk finished reading the charges, Attorney Elle Gardner placed a worn brown envelope in front of me. I ran my fingers across the acceptance letter in side of it that had arrived four years too late and smiled. This time, everyone who belonged behind bars would get exactly what they deserved.