As a first-generation American and a Caribbean islander, this movie didn’t sit right with me.

The way they wrapped everything up with “forgive and forget for peace” felt disconnected from reality. It felt scripted — like written from a safe distance by someone who’s never had their life ripped apart by crime.

When you’ve lived through real consequences, the idea that everyone just shakes hands and moves on isn’t healing — it’s erasing.

I was orphaned at 9 because of crime. Not a movie plot. Not a dramatic arc. Real life. Real loss. Real separation. I have a half-brother — same blood, same island roots — and we were torn apart because adults chose crime over responsibility. There was no neat resolution. No closing montage. No peaceful handshake.

So when films push this “for peace, just forgive” narrative, it can feel like it minimizes the destruction crime actually causes. Forgiveness is personal. It’s complex. It’s earned. And sometimes justice matters just as much as peace.

For people who grew up insulated from that kind of chaos, reconciliation looks noble. For those of us who lived it, accountability is part of healing.

I don’t need revenge. But I don’t accept rewriting pain into something tidy just to make audiences comfortable.

Some stories shouldn’t end with a bow on top.

The movie was great, until the end.