Yā Rabb, You set the floor of justice with absolute precision. Life for life. Eye for eye. Tooth for tooth. And then You opened the ceiling. The same verse that named the retribution named a higher door: fa-man taṣaddaqa bihi fa-huwa kaffāratun lah. Whoever gives up the right as a charity, it becomes a kaffārah for him. Ya Allāh, You did not just legislate justice; You incentivized mercy. You did not just allow forgiveness; You priced it at 'kaffārah for sins.' You knew the believer would struggle to release a wound, so You attached, to the release, a redemption of his own wrongs. Forgive me, ya Allāh, for every wound I have held in my chest with a tight grip, demanding justice I never enforced, hoarding pain I could have converted to kaffārah. The cousin who hurt me twenty years ago. The teacher who insulted me. The friend who betrayed me. The relative who took what was not theirs. Each grip closed a door of my own sins being washed away. Open my hand, ya Rabb. Let me list every wound this week and consciously give each one up as sadaqah, by name, for Your sake. Let each forgiveness be a kaffārah for a slip I will not even remember. And ya Allāh, when on the Day I stand before You with my own list of wrongs, may I find that the sadaqah of my forgivenesses paid off the dues of my own debts. Āmīn ya ʿAfūw ya Ghaffār.