Chapter 36
Month Five
Camila
“I’d like to direct your attention to these,” I say, sliding a stack of printed DMs from Monica Becker’s account across the table toward the mediator.
“They clearly suggest that Mr. Becker was engaged in an affair. These messages were sent to my client directly from the other woman, along with pictures corroborating the relationship.”
My voice doesn’t waver. It never does. Monica sits beside me, her posture rigid but her chin lifted in defiance.
I nod at her as a gesture of support. Despite her husband being a fancy professional baseball player, we’re going to get what she deserves with the affair evidence.
It’s the perfect leverage for settling financial matters.
Across the table, Chad Becker sits. I remember what Hess said about him a couple of months ago—that he’s known for being a great guy—but right now, he’s too ashamed to meet anyone’s eyes.
His lawyer? He’s practically glowing with anticipation.
He flips open his portfolio, smooth and confident, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“With respect,” he says, sliding his own folder across the table, “we have evidence that these messages are fabricated. The photographs were doctored. The metadata shows they originated from your client’s device. And further, we can demonstrate that Mrs. Becker has been carrying on her own affair.”
The words land like a grenade.
I stare down at the papers he has presented, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Screenshots. Metadata. Testimony. It’s airtight.
Monica Becker swore she’d never lie to me, and because of that, I believed every word she said about her husband.
But she did lie—lied in a way that makes me look like the fool.
The mediator clears her throat, trying to regain control of the room, but her voice is muffled under the roar in my head.
I think I’ve lost my edge.
Richard doesn’t waste time. Once I’m back from mediation, he’s already called me into his corner office, door shut like he’s about to yell.
“This was one of our biggest cases of the year, and you failed us because you weren’t prepared.” His voice is sharp, each word precise. “You walked into that meeting blind, and we looked like amateurs. That’s not acceptable for someone who claims she’s ready to make partner.”
My jaw tightens. Claims? As if every eighty-hour week, every case I’ve carried on my back, has been nothing but posturing.
Richard adjusts his cufflinks, casual, almost bored. “Look, I’ve always believed in your potential. But after this? I’m not sure I can take the risk. Partner requires flawless judgment, and today…”—he shakes his head slowly—“today proved you’re not there yet.”
And there it is.
The carrot.
Always dangling, never close enough to reach. Always some excuse, some impossible standard. He’ll never give me that promotion. I don’t think he ever intended to.
Something inside me cracks, splits wide open to the core.
I hate this job.
I hate the long hours that shackle me here.
I hate the endless parade of broken marriages, the clients who lie and manipulate, each convinced they’re the innocent one.
I hate the constant negativity that I let seep into me for years, corrode me, convince me that love and marriage are just illusions waiting to crumble.
And I hate that I’ve let this job and my success here define me.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
I stand, smoothing my skirt with steady hands. Richard looks up, eyebrows raised, expecting me to beg for another chance.
My chin lifts, defiance ruling my gaze. “I quit, Richard.”
“What, because you got a slap on the wrist?”
“No, because I’ve outgrown this place.”
I don’t wait for him to recover. My heels click against the marble as I walk out, and with each step, the weight on my chest lifts just a little more.
Yes, the life I’ve built is crumbling.
But maybe it needs to, so I can rebuild stronger.
Hess
“You quit?” I try to keep my jaw off the floor, but it doesn’t work. “Just like that?”
She shrugs, one shoulder lifting. “I couldn’t do it anymore.” Her fingers trace the laminated edge of the Waffle House menu even though we’ve already ordered.
My shoulders sink as I stare back at her. “I bet that was really hard for you.”
“I would’ve thought it would’ve been harder, but in the moment, it was the easiest decision I’ve ever made.”
“I'm proud of you.”
A soft smile lifts her lips. “Proud of me?”
“Yeah, for being brave enough to choose something different for your life. Not everyone does that.”
“It might not have been brave. It might’ve been stupid because I don’t know what I’m going to do now. For the first time ever, I don’t have a plan, and it’s a little unnerving.”
I lean back, studying Camila. There’s something lighter about her face tonight. Not carefree exactly, but unburdened. Like she dropped a boulder she didn’t even realize she’d been carrying.
“Selena will be happy,” she says. “Now all my focus can be on planning the most amazing bridal shower and bachelorette party.”
“That’s true. Assuming, your help doesn’t come with advice about how she shouldn’t be getting married in a few weeks.”
“No, I’ve officially decided to stay out of it and let my baby sister get married in peace.”
“Because you know you won’t convince her, or because your views on marriage have changed?”
“Probably a little bit of both.”
The waitress drops off our waffles, interrupting our conversation. One plate, two forks, because Camila always steals bites from mine anyway.
“Okay,” I say, taking a bite. “So, until you figure out your next big lawyer move, you could try out new hobbies.”
Her brow arches. “Hobbies?”
“Yeah. You could learn how to knit. Make us matching sweaters with little cowboy hats stitched on them.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Fine, then pottery. You’d look good with your hands in clay. Or how do you feel about hot dogs?”
“Hot dogs?”
“You could become a competitive eater. Start small, waffles first, then work your way up to hot dogs.”
“Competitive eating? Really? That’s what my life has come to?”
“I mean, you couldn’t just start. You’d have to work up to it, stretch out your stomach.”
She’s laughing now, the sound bubbling up bright and unrestrained, and it gives me purpose. Like, I’m meant to be the person who cheers Camila up.
“Okay, if not hot dogs, then you tell me what you like to do in your free time.”
“When I’m sad, I like to go on Instagram and leave comments on posts.”
I frown. “You’re a mean commenter?”
“No.” She laughs. “The opposite. I like to leave nice compliments on people’s posts. Tell them they look pretty or that I like their outfit. It makes me feel better.”
I can’t help my smile.
“I know I can’t make a job out of that, but—”
“No, I was just thinking about how that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard and how it makes me fall even harder for you.” I shake my head. “You know I’m goner, right? I don’t stand a chance when it comes to you.”
Her expression softens into something sweet and feminine. “Thank you for always being here for me and for taking such good care of me. You said a few months ago that you’d show me what it’s like to have someone take care of me for once. And you’ve done that, and I appreciate it.”
I shrug with a smile. “That’s what marriage is about.”