Push

15. She Argued Her Case

She Argued Her Case

Gwen

Hunched over, hopping on one foot, and struggling to sling on a black stiletto, I made it down the hallway in record time. Noah’s squeaky book dropped onto the hallstand, but the other stiletto stayed tucked under my arm—multitasking at its finest.

Toby will be here any second.

I dreaded glancing at my phone to check the time. Not only because tears prickled every time I saw Toby’s stream of lies about missing me, but because of the newest message from Ian.

Ian

Let me treat you to a night off. A proper break. Dinner and my long-winded complaints about Cormac McCarthy. I’ll arrange a sitter.

Think about it xo

Hell no .

I steadied myself by clutching the hallstand, my breathing ragged, and I clamped my eyes shut to let the dark swallow the memory of Ian’s hands on me.

I need to get the hell out of this house.

A car door slammed outside.

I spared myself the ring of the doorbell by hauling open the front door just as the footsteps bounced to a stop outside. When I saw Toby’s face, I regretted asking him to come over. It was six in the morning, and he was positively beaming.

The man loved being useful, and there was no better way for him to feel valuable than being almost the last person I’d called to look after Noah for the day. The winner of last place was Toby’s mother. Hell would freeze over before I asked for that woman’s help.

“Morning, Gw—” Toby’s words died in his throat.

His eyes raked over me from head to toe, starting at my neatly knotted bun, expensive silk blouse, and charcoal suit.

It was only thanks to shapewear I’d been able to squeeze my ass back into the pencil skirt.

Toby’s eyes stopped on the black stiletto on my foot. He gulped. He’d always liked the heels.

“You going somewhere special?” he asked.

I was tempted to leave him sweating with the confused look on his face, but he needed to know. “I have job interviews lined up all morning.”

“Job interviews?”

“Yeah, you know… Get a job? Earn money?” I slipped on the other stiletto.

I still wasn’t at eye level with Toby, but somehow, I stood ten feet tall wearing my old work clothes.

Jumping at shadows and fighting to forget Ian’s fingers on my skin?

Not in that suit. “Bills don’t get paid with thin air. ”

“No, they don’t, but—”

“But nothing.”

“ But .” Toby’s tone was more insistent. “I can keep paying the bills. We planned for this. We thought it would be best for NoBo if you stayed home for now.”

“Things have changed.”

“Our marriage has changed, but we’re raising this little dude together. Is getting a job what you want, Gwen?”

“I want a husband who isn’t a cheating dog.”

Toby scrubbed a hand over his chin but didn’t bite back. “I know my screw-ups ruined our plans, but answer me this one question honestly. Please. Is getting a job again so soon what you want ?” His eyebrows rose, questioning me. “You haven’t worked since—”

“Don’t you dare.” My fists balled at my sides. “You just couldn’t wait to take a shot at me about me not working, could you?”

“I wasn’t taking a shot. I’m just trying to understand—”

“How could you ever understand?”

“I can’t! I can’t understand because you shut me out! Every damn time, Gwen! If we could talk about what happened that day—”

My snort of frustration cut off his words. “It’s a bit late for you to start caring now, don’t you think?” I folded my arms defensively across my chest.

“That’s not fair, and you know it. I told you we could fight those bastards if that’s what you wanted.” Toby drove a hand through his hair. “We should’ve made their life hell.”

Frustration surged hot through my veins.

“Why fight the inevitable?” Everything was easy for Toby.

He had no idea how the real world worked when you didn’t have a trust fund and a good family name to save you.

“Because you wanted to play white knight and save the trailer trash from the big bad boss? Oh, please .”

Instead of bombarding me with denials, Toby grew quiet.

His brows furrowed, he watched me tug down the bottom of my jacket and dart nervous eyes up and down the hallway.

Why was he insisting on talking about this now?

I smoothed the non-existent flyaway hairs on top of my head. Was I ever escaping this damn house?

“Gwen…” Toby’s hand reached out, but he pulled it back when my eyes widened. “Is everything okay?”

I snapped, “Of course it is.”

“Are you sure?” His voice lowered to the aching, gentle rumble that used to be followed by one of the world’s warmest cuddles. “I know you, doll. Talk to me.”

“You don’t have to do any of this”—I waved a hand in the space between us—“anymore. We’re finished.”

Toby’s eyes misted, but he jerked his chin down in a nod. “I’m here for you no matter what.”

Only a dull thump filled the yawning gap in my chest. God, if only that were true.

“You’re not.” I squeezed my eyes shut. In the flickering black, I was trapped in the corner, Ian’s mouth biting a wet trail down my neck…

Only this time, my big, brave Toby burst through the door and ripped him off me. “You’re not here.”

“Gwen.” I could hear the hitch in his voice, but I refused to look up. “What happened?”

“N-nothing.”

“Tell me.”

Shaking my head, I shuddered in a breath, but the hollow only ached more.

I remembered all the nights Toby had curled beside me, stroking his fingers down my back and whispering silly stories to distract me until I fell asleep.

But he wasn’t here anymore. There was no one to help me pause the thoughts colliding in my head.

This was my shame. My secret. Toby wasn’t part of this anymore. He’d made his choice.

I straightened my lapel, smoothed the front of my jacket, and stood tall. When I lifted my chin, I made sure my face was expressionless. I wasn’t weak. I was strong.

“I want to get a job,” I said, careful to keep the fear from rattling my voice.

Toby waited another beat, his eyes still questioning, until he eventually sighed. “And I want you to be happy. I know your career’s important to you. If you want to work again, I’ll step up and do what needs to be done to make that happen, but—”

I threw my hands up in frustration. “There’s always a but.”

“ But. ” Toby’s tone was insistent again. “If you want to stay home with Noah full-time, do it. Our finances are my responsibility. Every dollar of mine—the trust fund and the clinic—is for you two.”

“Don’t let your mother hear you say that.”

“It’s about the only thing I am prepared to say to her now.”

I arched my brow. “So, the rumor is true then? You let your mother have it? Stormed out and everything?” I responded to Toby’s confused look by adding, “Tanya texted me.”

“Christ, she’s such a blabbermouth!”

“I don’t know if that’s quite how I’d describe your sister. Her exact words were literally, ‘Toby told our mother to fuck herself with a beef Wellington and left.’ I guessed the rest myself.”

Grinning, he wiggled his eyebrows. “She forgot to tell you the part where I bowed first.”

A huff of laughter managed to escape. “What finally tipped you over the edge?”

“You know what Mum’s like.” Toby’s smile was tight.

I cocked my head. He was keeping something from me.

Had his mother mocked him again for being stupid?

Or had she torn into him for dragging the precious family name through the mud?

I’d heard those comments from her mouth more than once.

He had, too. Maybe that was why he shuffled from foot to foot.

He quickly added, “All that matters is that Mum won’t bother you again.” He drew a cross over his heart. “Promise.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all year. You did good.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Toby’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Doing something right always switched his dork mode on.

“Let’s keep the good news coming,” he said, his chest all puffed out. “I reckon you might be on a winning streak today. So, let’s get you out the door to those job interviews.” His grin grew wider. “ If that’s what you want.”

I rolled my eyes. Brick, meet wall. But a tiny part of me was glad Toby looked out for me and cared about what I wanted…for once.

Melissa—the last recruiter on my list and, honestly, my last hope—flipped through my resume for the fourth time. I fought the urge to twist my hands in my lap. My nerves were raw, but I locked the self-doubt behind a carefully painted mask of confidence.

This isn’t a good sign.

Melissa’s smile was grim. Almost… sympathetic . “And you’re sure you can only work part-time?”

It was the same question I’d been asked in the three interviews before this one.

Enthusiastic handshakes and speeches about my partnership potential vanished when I set a boundary about how many hours I could devote to my career.

There was nothing realistic about my working sixteen-hour days anymore.

Even if Toby started pulling his weight, and even if I wrangled daycare and called in every last favor from our friends, my career couldn’t be my only priority.

Honestly? I didn’t want it to be, either.

Life had changed. Noah came first. I still wanted to kick ass, but I also needed to think about what was best for my baby. I’d grown up with a mother who’d drunk herself into oblivion to blot out her children’s existence. I could never repeat those mistakes.

Where did that decision leave me in the job market, though? Apparently, in the awkward wasteland where recruiters snapped my resume shut, thanked me for coming, and promised to call me even though we were all smart enough to know they’d never call.

I tried the same tactic on Melissa that had already failed on everyone else. She’d called me , after all. She must have been a little interested.

“My work ethic is unquestionable,” I said. “But, yes, my existing commitments limit my availability to part-time or flexible working hours.”

“Existing commitments?” Melissa repeated with a thoughtful hum. “ Family commitments?”

Legally, she wasn’t supposed to ask me that. I didn’t need to answer, either. Practically, I knew it was the death knell of yet another interview. The same old story. If progress had been made for working mothers, it hadn’t trickled down to Sydney’s legal sector yet.

Melissa closed my resume and folded her hands on top. Her gaze was steady, and her smile tense. I knew this look. I took a deep breath and lifted my chin, ready for another rejection.

“Gwen, you’re an impressive candidate.” Yeah, here we go.

“Your reputation precedes you. There are very few lawyers out there with your skills and experience.” My heart thumped, knowing the drill all too well.

This was absolutely another rejection. “And that’s why I feel like I should be frank with you. ”

My eyebrows popped up. “I’d appreciate honest feedback.” Finally, something I could work with.

“Honestly? You have limited job options. Your experience as a Crown Prosecutor is highly regarded, but it’s niche.

You know this. There’s criminal law, obviously…

Corporate litigation…” Melissa paused for a moment, her finger tapping absently on the desk as her mind ticked over.

“Are you sure you don’t want to explore your options back in the public service? ”

“No.” Maybe if hell froze over after the way those bastards had treated me. “I’m looking for a change.”

“I understand. I do. You’re not the first burnt-out prosecutor who’s sat in that chair because they’ve seen too much. However, my law firm clients expect certain billable targets, and your salary expectations are simply not achievable if you can only commit to working part-time.”

“What about staggered hours?” I pressed. “I can work outside of business hours on a flexible arrangement.”

“Most top firms expect you to work from the office during business hours. And if you hope to move up the ladder to partnership… Well… ”

I nodded, even though this was the same bullcrap excuse I’d heard all morning.

It was as if every law firm in the city thought my brain had fallen out of my vagina when I’d birthed my baby.

Or that, for some reason, a butt on a seat in a city office was more productive.

Short-sighted jackasses, the lot of them.

Melissa suggested, “Perhaps if you adjust your salary expectations?”

The quiet confidence I’d faked was lost. My voice was indignant when I shot back, “My salary expectations are completely realistic for the experience I have.” I sighed. “Is there truly nothing you can offer me?”

Melissa’s finger tapped my resume. “There is… one option.” Her smile was almost a grimace. “But it’s not ideal.”

What was ideal at this point? “I’d like to hear it just the same.”

“I have one client who approached me knowing you were available. He specifically asked for you. He’s actually why I reached out when I heard you were interviewing with the other recruiters this morning.”

“I’m interested to know more.”

“He is particular .”

Melissa’s emphasis on the word “particular” wasn’t lost on me. It was code for “The guy’s a dickhead.” Great. History repeating.

“And it’s only paralegal work…” she added. “ Technically… ”

My heart plummeted out of the bottom of my stilettos.

Paralegal . A demotion. We’d started the interview discussing partnership, and now I’d been dropped to the bottom of the food chain.

It wasn’t that paralegals weren’t valuable—truly, they did some of the most challenging work of all—but my mind stuttered over all my study, my experience, my awards, and the years of late nights and sacrifices.

Was becoming a parent truly the end of it all? Maybe. But one option was better than no option.

I swallowed my pride. “And the salary?”

“Six figures. Again…my client is… particular .”

“But the role is part-time?”

“If you’re lucky, very much so.”

I bowed my head, searching for answers in the prim hands I’d folded in my lap.

My body was a statue, but my mind raced.

I thought about Noah. I even did what Toby asked and thought about what I wanted, too.

I thought about how much happier I was when there was some other part of me that wasn’t only “Toby’s wife” or “Noah’s mum”—and how much I dreaded being in the house alone with too much time to think.

The answer didn’t take long to find in all the noise rattling about in my mind. No matter how small, I wanted a part of me back.

There was no hint of my shattered pride when I asked, “When can I interview for the role?”