“Those are threats!” I exclaimed. “That could be attempted murder!”

My wife leaned over and gently whispered, “Shhh.”

“Is this a rock opera?!” I shot back.

That was my first experience watching The Phantom of the Opera. I’ll admit it – I’m not a theater guy.  Very clearly, though, I’m a prosecutor.

I didn’t grow up with velvet curtains, dramatic spotlights, or people singing their feelings. The closest thing I had to a musical was The Blues Brothers. Then I met my wife.

Early in our relationship, she brought me into the world of live theater. I’d always laugh at the idea of characters singing instead of speaking. I’d joke, “Can you imagine me doing that in court?” and belt out, “He is guilty! I mean, really!” She’d respond with a well-practiced eye roll.

But watching Phantom, I wasn’t laughing. This masked man was getting away with everything – stalking, kidnapping, arson, attempted murder, and actual murder. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. And I really couldn’t believe the audience’s reaction: sighs, murmurs, maybe even a few tears.

Emotionally, the Phantom’s pain and longing resonated with them. Legally, it felt like an open-and-shut case.

Even when I’m not in the courtroom, the prosecutor in me lingers. I double-check credit card readers. I frequently check my pocket for my wallet. I scan parking lots for people sitting idle in their cars. Yes, I know—I already feel bad for my kids when they start dating.

As the Phantom dragged Christine – the love interest, or in my mind the victim – underground, I was stunned to hear whispers around me calling it “romantic.” But that’s not uncommon. I see it happen in our cases.  We often see how obsession gets mistaken for love. One of a prosecutor’s most important jobs is to strip away emotion and ask: What can we prove? Facts, not feelings, are what drive justice.

Too often, people forget that. Especially when a defendant alleges to be wrongfully accused, media attention can shift to their story – and their story alone. Meanwhile, the victim and their family can be forgotten. Prosecutors never want someone wrongfully convicted. In fact, they are the first to try to prevent such a thing from ever happening.

As I sat in the theater, I watched the Phantom’s backstory unfold and invoke real empathy. But once Raoul—the love interest and another victim—entered the picture, the Phantom escalated: more violence, more threats. And then – spoiler alert – Christine kisses the Phantom. I nearly stood up in disbelief. She kissed him?

The Phantom never faces justice. And yet, the audience is left haunted by his heartbreak, not his crimes. That’s when it hit me: this musical is a masterclass in how emotion can outweigh facts—and how obsession, when wrapped in drama and music, can be mistaken for romance.

As we walked out, my wife was glowing from the music and storytelling. I was muttering about felonies. She turned to me and said, “You can leave the prosecuting at the office.”

She’s probably right. Sometimes, it’s okay to let go and just enjoy the show.

Todd Thompson is the County Attorney of Leavenworth County, Kansas.