Chapter 5 #2
The pie was perfect—Harper’s pie always was—and the conversation shifted to lighter topics: neighborhood gossip, Miller’s running schedule, whether the Hendersons down the street were ever going to finish their renovation.
The evening warmed the dining room, golden light slanting through the windows, and Miller felt the last of the week’s tension unwind.
This is what Sunday dinners were for, this grounding reminder that no matter how demanding work became, she had a place where she belonged unconditionally.
After dessert, Miller started gathering the plates.
“Leave those,” Nadia said. “I’ll get them later.”
“I don’t mind.” Miller stacked the dishes, falling into the rhythm. “You cooked—well, Harper cooked—so I can clean.”
“You’re our guest.”
“I’m your daughter. That’s not the same thing.”
Nadia smiled and handed her the serving bowl. “Fine, but I’m supervising.”
They moved to the kitchen, settling into the familiar dance of cleaning. Miller washed, Nadia dried, and Harper's voice drifted in from the living room where she'd retreated with the newspaper and her reading glasses.
“The article about the Shepry divorce had a photo of her. Astoria,” Nadia said casually.
Miller focused on scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot. “Oh?”
“She looked exhausted. All that buttoned-up composure, but her eyes…” Nadia set a plate in the cabinet. “I’ve seen that look before in my clients back when I was working. The ones just trying to hold everything together with whatever scrap of willpower they had left.”
Miller thought about Astoria in the elevator, the rigid set of her shoulders, the determined way she'd kept her gaze fixed on the doors. The way she'd acknowledged Miller at the courthouse with a nod that was perfectly polite and absolutely nothing else.
“It’s not my job to feel sorry for her,” Miller said. “She’s the opposing party.”
“I didn’t say you should feel sorry for her.” Nadia handed her another plate to wash. “I just said I noticed something, that’s all.”
They finished the dishes in comfortable silence.
“You’re sure you don’t want to take some pie home?” Harper held up a foil-wrapped plate, already knowing the answer.
“You ask me this every week.” Miller took the offered plate. “And every week, I say yes.”
“Just making sure you’re paying attention.” Harper pulled her into a solid hug, the kind that said everything her words didn’t. “Kick ass this week, kid.”
“Planning on it.”
Nadia walked her to the door, the evening air cool but pleasant after the warmth of the house. The streetlights were just flickering on, casting soft pools of light along the familiar street.
“It’s good to see you excited about work again," Nadia said, leaning against the doorframe.
Miller paused, keys in hand. “What do you mean?”
“The last few months, you seemed like you were just going through the motions. You were competent as always, but”—Nadia furrowed her brow while searching for the right word—”you were more distant. This case has you engaged in a way I haven’t seen in you in a while.”
Miller considered that. She hadn't realized it was visible, but her mother wasn't wrong. The routine cases had become exactly that: routine. She could handle them in her sleep, and sometimes it felt like she was.
“It’s a good challenge,” Miller said. “Rachel is trusting me with real responsibility, and I don’t want to let her down.”
“You won’t.” Nadia said it with the simple confidence of someone who had never doubted her daughter’s abilities. “But don’t forget to take care of yourself in the process. You can’t pour from an empty cup.”
“I know, Mom.”
Nadia pulled her into one last hug, holding on a beat longer than usual. "We're proud of you. Whatever happens with the case, you know that, right?"
“I know. Thanks, Mom.”
She walked to her car, the foil-wrapped pie warm in her hands, and glanced back to see Nadia still standing in the doorway. She waved, and Nadia waved back before finally stepping inside.
The drive home was quiet, Sunday evening traffic light on the familiar roads.
Miller let her mind wander through the week ahead.
She had discovery documents to finalize, a strategy session with Rachel on Tuesday, and depositions to schedule.
The Shepry case had taken over her calendar, and she wasn't complaining.
She thought about what Nadia had said, that she seemed more engaged.
And it was true. For the past year, maybe longer, work had felt like something she was good at rather than something she loved.
She'd stopped noticing when that shift happened, the slow slide from passion to competence.
But this case had woken something up inside her.
It was the challenge of it, the stakes, the complexity of untangling a marriage between two formidable women.
Astoria’s deposition was still weeks away, but Miller was already thinking about it.
Gerald Bracks would prepare her thoroughly—the woman clearly didn't leave anything to chance—but depositions had a way of revealing things that preparation couldn't hide.
After hours of questioning, the same ground covered from different angles, even the most controlled witness eventually showed cracks.
Miller wondered what Astoria would be like under that kind of pressure.
In the mediation, she'd been unreadable, every response measured and precise.
But Nadia had seen exhaustion in a news photo, and Miller had seen that flicker during Valerie's accusations, that split-second reaction before the mask snapped back into place.
There was something underneath all that armor. Miller was certain of it.
She pulled into her apartment complex and parked in her usual spot.
The building was modest, a far cry from whatever Cliffside mansion Astoria Shepry probably went home to, but it was hers.
She’d painted the walls herself, picked out every piece of furniture, and cultivated the jungle of houseplants that lined her windowsills.
Inside, she set the pie in the fridge and checked her phone, seeing a few work emails, nothing urgent. She’d deal with them in the morning.
She changed into comfortable clothes and settled onto the couch with her laptop, pulling up the discovery documents she’d been reviewing all week.
The preliminary hearing was still a month away, but there was always more to prepare.
Astoria Shepry didn’t miss anything, which meant Miller couldn’t afford to either.
She worked for an hour, making notes and flagging questions for Rachel. The apartment was quiet around her, just the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional car passing outside. It was peaceful, the kind of solitude she’d always valued.
But tonight, for some reason, it felt emptier than usual.
She closed the laptop and stared at the dark window, her reflection ghosted against the glass. Nadia’s words drifted back to her: “You dated him for eleven months and never brought him here for Sunday dinner.”
It was true; she’d never brought Marcus home or Kevin before him or any of the men she’d dated over the years. They were nice guys, all of them, and she’d kept them at arm’s length without ever quite realizing she was doing it.
“Easy isn’t the same as right.”
Miller didn’t even know what “right” was supposed to feel like. She’d assumed the fireworks and butterflies were the stuff of romance novels and films. Real relationships were built on compatibility and shared values, not some mythical spark that made your heart race.
That’s what she’d always believed, anyway.
She shook off the thought and headed to bed. Tomorrow was Monday, and she had a deadline to meet. These discovery documents wouldn’t organize themselves, and Rachel was counting on her.
She set her alarm for six and let sleep pull her under. Good cases made good attorneys, and good opponents sharpened skills. And Astoria Shepry was the most formidable opponent she’d faced in years.
Nothing more complicated than that.