Chapter 27 David
David stood just inside the door, briefcase in one hand, looking more tired than he had an hour ago.
"Angela's at a hotel downtown," he said. "Safe. With her daughter. Her sister’s also to drive up to the city, and she’ll come to the hearing tomorrow for support."
"Good." I handed him the report. "Everything's documented. Timeline, injuries, my professional assessment. It should be more than sufficient."
He took it, started reading immediately. I watched his eyes scan the pages, watched his jaw tighten as he processed the extent of Angela's injuries.
"This is thorough," he said quietly. "Really thorough."
"That's the point."
He looked up at me. "Can I use your conference room? I need to incorporate this into the motion I'm filing in the morning. It'll take me maybe twenty minutes."
I should have said yes and left. Should have told him to lock up when he was done. Should have gotten in my car and driven home before anything else could happen.
"Conference room's the second door on the right," I said instead. "I'll be in my office if you need anything."
He nodded and walked down the hall, briefcase in hand.
I went back to my office and stared at my computer screen without seeing it.
He was down the hall. Twenty feet away. Working on a motion that would keep Angela safe. Doing good work. Important work.
The kind of work that had nothing to do with the man who'd destroyed our marriage and everything to do with the person he'd become.
I tried to focus on charts. Failed. Opened my email. Closed it again. Checked my phone for messages that weren't there.
Fifteen minutes passed.
I stood up, walked to the break room, poured two cups of coffee from the pot I'd made earlier. Added cream and sugar to one, the way David used to take it. The way he probably still took it, judging by the coffee shop two weeks ago.
I stood there holding both cups, staring at them.
What was I doing?
Bringing him coffee was... what? A peace offering? A friendly gesture? An excuse to see him again?
I should put the second cup down. Go back to my office. Let him finish his work and leave.
Instead, I walked down the hall to the conference room.
The door was half-open. David sat at the long table, papers spread out in front of him, laptop open, completely absorbed in whatever he was writing. His jacket was off, draped over the back of the chair. His tie was loosened. He'd rolled up his sleeves to his elbows.
I knocked lightly on the doorframe.
He looked up, and something in his expression softened when he saw me.
"I made coffee," I said, holding up the cups. "Thought you might need some."
"You remembered how I take it." He said it quietly, like he was surprised.
"Muscle memory." I set the cup down in front of him, careful not to get too close. "How's the motion coming?"
"Almost done. Your report is—" He gestured at the papers. "It's exactly what I needed. Clear, detailed, impossible to dispute. Angela's going to get that restraining order tomorrow because of you."
"Because she was brave enough to leave."
"Because you documented what he did to her." He picked up the coffee, took a sip. "Thank you. For this. For staying late. For…" He paused. "For everything."
I should have left then. Should have said "you're welcome" and walked back to my office.
But I didn't.
I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.
"How long have you been doing this?" I asked. "The DV cases."
He set down his coffee. "About a year. Maybe a little more."
"Why?"
He was quiet for a moment, considering the question. Or considering how much to tell me.
"Because I understand what it's like to hurt someone you're supposed to love," he said finally.
"I understand what it's like to watch someone you destroyed pick up the pieces and rebuild without you.
And I wanted to help women who were trying to escape men who'd hurt them.
Maybe if I could help them get free, help them be safe.
.." He trailed off. "I don't know. Maybe it doesn't make up for anything. But it felt like something I could do."
My chest felt tight. "Angela told me what you said about me."
His eyes met mine. "It was the truth."
"She said you respect me."
"I do." He didn't look away. "More than I can explain. When I see you work, the way you handle patients, the way you document everything perfectly, the way you fight for people who can't fight for themselves—" He stopped himself. "I'm in awe of you, Emma. Of who you've become."
The room felt smaller suddenly. Too warm. The fluorescent lights too bright.
"You said my name," I said quietly. "Earlier. In the hallway."
"I know. I'm sorry. I should have—"
"No." I cut him off. "I just mean... you've been so careful to call me Ms. Peterson. For months. And tonight you said Emma."
"Does it bother you?"
I should have said yes. Should have reinforced the boundaries, kept things professional, maintained the distance that had kept me safe.
"No," I said instead. "It doesn't bother me."
Something shifted in his expression. Hope, maybe. Or fear. I wasn't sure which.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
I nodded.
"That day at the coffee shop. You said you didn't know what we were now." He set down his pen, gave me his full attention. "Have you figured it out?"
My heart was racing. "No."
"No, you haven't figured it out? Or no, you don't want to answer?"
"Both." I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup. "I don't know what we are, David. I don't know if we're colleagues who happened to be married once, or if we're... something else. I don't know if I can trust you. I don't know if I want to trust you."
"That's fair."
"But I also don't hate you anymore." The words came out softer than I intended. "And I can't stop thinking about the fact that I don't hate you."
He leaned forward slightly. "Is that a bad thing?"
"I don't know. It feels dangerous." I met his eyes. "You hurt me, David. You destroyed me. And I rebuilt myself from scratch, and I'm proud of who I am now. But sitting here with you, seeing who you've become—" I stopped, not sure how to finish that sentence.
"It scares you," he finished quietly.
"Yes."
"Because if I've really changed, then you have to decide what to do with that."
"Yes."
We sat in silence for a moment. The building was completely quiet around us. Just the two of us and the hum of fluorescent lights and three years of history sitting heavy in the space between us.
"I'm not asking you to decide anything tonight," David said finally.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me or trust me or give me another chance.
I just…" He ran a hand through his hair.
"I'm grateful you're here. That you let me work with you on these cases.
That you're even willing to sit here and talk to me. "
"I'm not doing it for you," I said. But it came out gentler than I meant it.
"I know." He smiled slightly. "You're doing it for Angela. For all the women who need help. That's who you are."
My throat felt tight.
I stood up, too fast, my chair scraping against the floor. "I should let you finish your motion."
"Emma—"
I was already at the door. "Lock up when you leave. The front door will secure automatically."
"Emma, wait."
I stopped but didn't turn around.
"Thank you," he said. "For the coffee. For talking to me. For—" A pause. "For not hating me."
I looked back at him. He was still sitting at the table, papers spread out in front of him, looking at me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.
"Good night, David."
"Good night, Emma."
I walked back to my office, grabbed my jacket and bag, and left through the back entrance.
It wasn't until I was sitting in my car in the parking lot that I let myself fall apart.