Ritchie got out of the hospital and into the court room. He and his father sat through an hour of court proceedings that consisted of the state preaching on how anyone who would do such a thing is a danger to themselves and cannot be trusted alone and all the basic shit you expect from people who catch you with your pants down.
The Judge left it all up to his father. Robert Baker could either let his son continue in therapy every day for a year, on suicide watch and any medications the therapist may prescribe. Or, he could send Ritchie to a rehabilitation center for people with similar problems. Robert didn’t know what to do. What he did know was that therapy in the hospital didn’t seem to be going well, maybe the center would be different.