22. Kristen
KRISTEN
It's the evening before the hearing, and I can't sit still.
I've been pacing my living room for an hour. Kitchen to window. Window to couch. Couch to kitchen. My statement plays on a loop in my head, every word, every pause, every place where I need to breathe so my voice doesn't shake.
The case files are stacked on the kitchen table in three neat piles.
Carmen's printed statement is in a folder on top, her signature on the last page.
My notes are organized and color-coded, the way Logan showed me.
Blue for timeline. Yellow for financial documentation.
Red for the allegations and our point-by-point rebuttal.
Everything is as prepared as it's going to get.
But my body doesn't know that. Part of me is fired up. Ready. I've been waiting for this moment since Logan and I built our defense. The chance to finally stand in front of people and tell the truth. To fight back instead of running.
But the other part of me, the part that spent years with Miguel, knows better than to feel safe.
Because that's what he does. He always has something.
Some angle you don't see coming, some detail he twists until it sounds completely reasonable, even when it's insane.
You walk in thinking you're prepared, and he says one thing, just one thing, and suddenly you're doubting yourself.
You're standing there wondering if maybe he's right.
If maybe you are the problem. That is his gift.
So yeah, I'm ready. And I'm terrified. Both at the same time.
I try sitting down. That lasts about forty seconds.
I try making tea. I boil the water, pour it, then forget about it until it goes cold.
I try reading. I read the same paragraph three times without absorbing a word.
I try watching something on my laptop. I close it after two minutes because I can't focus on anything that isn't happening tomorrow in Conference Room B at ten o'clock in the morning.
Eventually, I just pace.
My phone is on the table. I think about calling Logan, but he's at work. He mentioned he had surgeries today.
I need someone to talk to. Someone who'll understand. Someone who knows how to make me feel better. So I grab my jacket and my keys. I know where I need to go.
The sun is starting to dip, throwing everything in warm gold.
The sky is clear, the air is cool, and the streets are quiet.
I walk for about twenty minutes, past the main road, past the park, down the narrow lane lined with old oaks.
The grass here is greener than the rest of the neighborhood. It rained last week.
I turn through the gate. Walk the path I know by heart. Third row. Fourth stone from the left.
I set the sunflowers against the base and sit down on the grass.
"Hi, Dad."
I wipe the headstone.
"I'm sorry I haven't visited in a while. Things have been…" I laugh, small and tired. "A lot. Things have been a lot."
I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them.
"So much has happened since you left. I don't even know where to start.
I was lost for a while. Really lost. After you passed, I didn't know who I was anymore.
I'd spent three years taking care of you, and when you were gone, I didn't know what to do.
" I pull at a piece of grass. "And I know what you'd say.
You'd say, 'Kristen, you didn't have to do that.
You didn't have to give up your career for me'.
But I did. I wanted to. Because you're my dad and I love you, and there was never a version of this where I let someone else take care of you.
I don't regret a single day of it. Not one.
I just wish…" I swallow. "I just wish you were here right now. "
The evening air is cool. Somewhere across the cemetery, a bird is singing.
"I have a hearing tomorrow. At the hospital.
It's complicated, but basically a man I trusted turned out to be someone I shouldn't have trusted, and now he's trying to ruin my career, my life.
I built a case against him. I have evidence.
I have people who believe me. But I'm still scared, Dad.
I'm scared because he's smart and he has money and he's the kind of person who always finds a way to win. "
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.
"But you know what? I'm also a little excited. Because I'm going to stand up in front of those people and tell the truth. And he can't take that from me. Nobody can."
I'm quiet for a minute, just sitting there with him.
"Oh. One more thing." I smile. "Do you remember Logan Maxwell? That boy from med school I used to complain about every single time I came home? The one who beat me on every other exam and drove me absolutely insane?"
I can almost hear my dad's voice. Almost see him smile into his tea and say, The one you won't stop talking about?
"Well, turns out he's grown into a man. An incredible one.
He's brilliant and stubborn and infuriating, and he makes me want to argue with him and kiss him in the same breath.
" I laugh. "He's been helping me through all of this.
He didn't have to. He's risking his career, his family name, everything. For me."
I trace the edge of the headstone with my finger.
"I guess you were right, huh? You teased me once that we'd end up together.
I told you that would never happen in a million years.
" I shake my head. "I really miss you, Dad.
Every day. And I wish you could meet him properly.
You'd pretend not to like him at first, because that's what you do, but you'd come around.
He's a lot like you, actually. Smart. Steady.
Says more with a look than most people say with a hundred words. "
I press my palm flat against the stone. It's cool in my hand.
"Wish me luck, okay? I'll make you proud."
I sit there for a few more minutes, the sky turning purple at the edges. Then I stand, brush the grass off my jeans, and walk home.
I walk instead of taking the bus, needing the fresh air. Talking to my dad did make me feel better.
There's a black sedan parked in front of my house. I know that car.
A few months ago, I would have turned around and found somewhere to hide until he left. But I'm not that person anymore.
I walk up to my front steps.
Miguel is standing on my porch.
He's in a dark coat. Nice shoes. He looks like he's come from somewhere important, or wants me to think he has. His face is calm. Patient. That version of him again. The reasonable man. The concerned ex-boyfriend who just wants to talk.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, and he turns around.
"It's nice to see you, too, Kris." He smiles, friendly. "I'm here to talk. Should we go inside?"
"No."
He nods. Like he expected that.
"Then I'll say it here." His voice is even.
"You're going to lose tomorrow, Kristen.
You know that, right? I have the financial records showing everything I did for you.
I have documentation of the residency placement.
I have my father's connections and a board that doesn't want the headache of a public scandal.
" He tilts his head. "You walk into that room, and they're going to look at you and see exactly what I told them they'd see. "
"A victim of your manipulation?"
"A woman who used me. And is now using another powerful man to cover for it." He says it evenly. Like he believes it. Maybe he does. "I'm not here to fight. I'm here because I don't actually want to watch you lose everything tomorrow. Despite what you think of me, I never wanted that."
"How generous of you."
"I'm serious." He steps closer. Not aggressive. Just closer. Testing the boundary. Seeing if I move. I don't. "Drop the hearing. Come back to me. And this all goes away. You keep your residency. You keep your career. Nobody has to know anything."
"Except you'd own my life again."
"You'd be safe."
"Safe," I repeat the word back to him. "You keep using that word. You used it when you moved me into your apartment. Used it when you took my credit cards. Used it when you told me I couldn't have lunch with a colleague." I look at him. "Your version of safe is a prison with gold bars, Miguel."
"That's not fair."
"Neither was punching a wall next to my head."
His jaw tightens, and there's a flash of something behind his eyes that he covers fast. "I made a mistake. One mistake. And I've been paying for it ever since."
"You filed a complaint to destroy my career. That's not paying for a mistake. That's punishing me for leaving."
"I filed that complaint because I was hurt. Because the woman I loved walked out without a word, and I found out she was with someone else." His voice is careful, every word placed exactly where he wants it. "How would you feel?"
"I'd feel like maybe I should look at why she left. And don't bring Maxwell into this. He's not a part of it."
"Oh, but he is," he says, almost gentle.
"Aren't you worried for him? His name is respected.
His family is a legacy. If you go through with this, he could lose everything.
His position, his reputation, his father's respect.
" He pauses, letting that sit. "All because you were too proud to come home.
Is that really what you want? To drag him down with you? "
This one gets me. Because it's true. Logan is risking everything by standing with me. His position, his reputation, the Maxwell legacy that his family spent decades building. He chose to fight with me, and if this goes wrong, he pays for that choice. Not me. Him.
I don't care what happens to me anymore. But I care about what happens to him. And I hate that Miguel knows that. I hate that he knows exactly where I'm vulnerable. He can't scare me with threats to my own career anymore, so he aims at the person I care about instead.
He sees the crack—he always sees the crack—and he leans into it.
"All you have to do is say the word, Kristen. Come back to me. This will all be over. You get to keep your career. Maxwell keeps his legacy and his position intact." He opens his hands, palms up, like he's offering something precious. "Everyone wins."
I look at this man on my porch, and something I didn't expect settles over me. Not fear. Not anger. Pity. Because he actually believes what he's saying. He genuinely thinks he's the reasonable one. That he loved me the right way. That I'm the one who got it wrong.
He's not pretending. He thinks this is love.
And for a second, just a second, the thought crosses my mind. What if I say yes? Not for me. For Logan. To protect his name, his career, everything he's built.
But then I think about Logan's face if he ever found out I did that.
If I went back to Miguel to protect him.
He wouldn't be grateful. He'd be furious.
Because Logan and I think the same way. We'd both rather burn than let someone else make our choices for us.
If I walk back into that cage for his sake, I'm doing the exact thing he's been fighting to help me stop doing.
Letting someone else decide what I'm worth.
He would never forgive me for that. And I would never forgive myself.
"No."
Miguel blinks. "Kristen—"
"I said no." My voice is steady. My hands are shaking, but I keep my voice steady. "I'm not coming back. I'm not dropping the hearing. And I'm not letting you decide how my story ends."
"You're making a mistake."
"No, I'm not. For the first time in years, I'm making my own decision. And you can't stand that."
His face changes. The warmth drains out like someone pulled a plug. And there he is: the real Miguel. The one underneath the coat and the cologne and the reasonable voice. Cold. Calculating. Furious that he's losing control.
"You're going to regret this," he says.
"Maybe. But it'll be my regret. Not yours. You don't get to own that anymore. I'm not backing down, and I'm never coming back to you. Ever."
His body tenses, his face an ugly mask. I step closer.
"You told me to prepare for hell. Well, I did. So I'll see you in hell tomorrow, Miguel."