Chapter 21
The coffee had gone cold in her hands. Miller stared at it, trying to remember when she’d poured it. The mug was the blue one from her desk, the one a client had given her two years ago, so at some point, she must have walked to the break room and filled it.
She just couldn’t recall doing it.
That had been happening a lot lately. There were gaps in the day where she moved through the motions without being present for them.
She’d find herself at her desk with no memory of the drive to work or standing in her kitchen at night with an open refrigerator, unsure of how long she’d been there or what she’d been looking for.
The conference room was too bright, the afternoon sun blinding. The legal pad in front of her was blank except for the date. She’d written that much at least.
Rachel had asked her to sit in on the strategy session with Valerie. “Fresh eyes,” she’d said, and Miller had agreed before the words fully registered. Now she was here, waiting for Valerie, and the room felt somehow distant, like she was watching it through glass.
It’d been two weeks since she had driven away from Astoria’s house, and the world had kept moving without her.
Cases got filed, hearings got scheduled, and the summer sun rose and set.
Everything continued exactly as before, and Miller couldn’t understand how that was possible when nothing felt the same.
The door opened, and Valerie swept in.
She was immaculate as always, wearing a cream silk blouse, tailored black slacks, and gold jewelry that caught the light. Her brunette hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her makeup was flawless. She looked like a woman who had never suffered a single inconvenience in her life.
Her gaze found Miller immediately, and something cold flickered behind her eyes.
“Miller.” She said her name like an accusation. “I didn’t realize you’d be joining us.”
“Rachel asked me to consult.” Miller kept her voice neutral. “To give a fresh perspective.”
“How very…generous of you.” Valerie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she took her seat, claiming the space the way she always did. “Considering you abandoned my case when I needed you the most.”
Rachel cleared her throat. “Let’s focus on the matter at hand. We’re three weeks out from the trial, and I want to review our strategy.”
The next twenty minutes were a recitation of facts Miller already knew.
The settlement talks had stalled; Astoria’s team wasn’t budging on the company valuation, and Gerald Bracks had made it clear his client would go to trial before accepting Valerie’s demands.
The document leak hadn’t produced the public outcry Valerie had hoped for, and the accusations against Miller had gone nowhere.
Miller watched Valerie’s face as Rachel spoke. The mask was slipping. Beneath the polished surface, something desperate was starting to show—a tightness around the mouth, a sharpness in the eyes. Valerie was losing, and she knew it.
“We need a new approach,” Valerie said when Rachel finished. “Something that will destroy her credibility before she takes the stand.”
Rachel’s expression remained neutral. “What did you have in mind?”
“I have information.” Valerie leaned forward slightly, and her voice dropped conspiratorially. “Personal information about Astoria’s mental state. Things I observed during our marriage that paint a very different picture than the one she presents to the world.”
Miller’s pen stilled against the legal pad.
“What kind of information?” Rachel asked.
“Erratic behavior, emotional instability, episodes where she would be completely irrational, even dangerous.” Valerie’s hands spread in a gesture of reluctant honesty.
“I didn’t even want to bring this up—it feels like a betrayal, even now—but if she’s going to sit in that courtroom and pretend to be the victim, the judge needs to know who she really is. ”
Miller felt like she just plunged her entire body in ice water.
She knew Astoria. She’d held her in the dark, had watched her fight to let down her walls, had seen the way Valerie’s manipulation had convinced her she was broken and unlovable.
The woman Valerie was describing—unstable, erratic, dangerous—wasn’t Astoria.
It was the version of Astoria that Valerie had spent their entire marriage trying to create.
“Can you be more specific?” Rachel asked. “What kind of episodes are we talking about?”
“There was a time she threw a glass at the wall during an argument. Another time, she locked herself in her office for two days and refused to speak to anyone. She would go through these periods where she barely ate, barely slept—” Valerie shook her head in practiced sorrow.
“I tried to get her help, but she refused. She said I was imagining things, that I was the one with problems. Classic deflection.”
Miller’s stomach churned. This was it. This was exactly what Valerie had done throughout the marriage: taken Astoria's pain, her exhaustion, her attempts to survive the relationship, and reframed them as evidence of instability.
And now she wanted to do it again, in open court, where Astoria would have to sit and listen while her ex-wife painted her as unhinged.
“Can any of this be verified?” Miller asked.
Valerie’s head snapped toward her. “Excuse me?”
“The episodes you’re describing, are there witnesses? Documentation? Medical records?”
“I was her wife. I witnessed them.”
“That makes you a party to the case, not an objective source.” Miller met Valerie's gaze steadily.
“If we present claims about Ms. Shepry's mental state without corroborating evidence, we're asking the judge to accept your interpretation as fact.
That's a character assassination dressed up as a legal argument. At best, the judge ignores it. At worst, it backfires and destroys your credibility instead of hers.”
Valerie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not even on this case anymore. Why are you here?”
“Miller works at this firm,” Rachel said evenly. “I asked for her input.”
“Her input seems remarkably biased toward my ex-wife.”
“My input is based on six years of practicing family law.” Miller's voice stayed calm, but something hot was building in her chest. “I've seen what happens when attorneys present unsubstantiated claims about an opposing party's mental fitness.
Judges don't like it. Juries don't like it.
And when the claims can't be proven, it makes the accusing party look desperate and vindictive.”
“I’m telling you what I experienced—”
“The court doesn't care about your experience. It cares about evidence.” Miller set her pen down. “If you can't prove these claims, presenting them is potentially defamatory. And if Rachel stands up in court and makes accusations she knows she can't substantiate, that's an ethical violation.”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.
Valerie turned to Rachel, her composure cracking visibly now. “Are you going to let her speak to me like this? She recused herself. She has no right—”
“She’s not wrong.” Rachel’s voice was quiet but firm. “Can you prove any of this, Valerie? Documentation, witnesses, anything beyond your own personal account?”
“It’s what I lived through.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Valerie’s jaw tightened. For a long moment, she didn’t answer, then she said, “It’s my interpretation of what happened. My truth.”
“Then we can’t use it.” Rachel closed her folder with a soft snap. “We’re going to win the case on facts, not fabrication. I won’t risk my license or this firm’s reputation on claims we can’t back up.”
“This is my case.” Valerie’s voice rose sharply. “My divorce, my money. You work for me.”
“And this is my firm.” Rachel didn’t flinch. “My license, my ethics. I’ll fight for you with everything I have, but I won’t lie for you. That’s not what you hired me to do.”
Valerie stood so abruptly her chair scraped against the floor.
She grabbed her bag, her movements were jerky with barely contained fury.
“I should have known,” she said, her voice icy enough to freeze.
“The moment Miller recused herself, I should have found new representation.
You're all protecting her. Every single one of you.”
She strode toward the door.
“Valerie—” Rachel started.
But the door slammed behind Valerie hard enough to rattle the blinds.
Silence settled over the conference room. Miller stared at the legal pad in front of her, at the notes she’d stopped taking halfway through the meeting.
Rachel exhaled slowly. “Well, that happened.”
“I’m sorry,” Miller said. “I shouldn’t have—”
“You shouldn’t have, what? Pointed out that she was asking us to commit an ethical violation?” Rachel shook her head. “You were right. I knew it the moment she started talking about ‘mental instability.’ I just needed someone else to say it first.”
Miller didn’t respond. She slipped her hands underneath her legs.
“She really hates you now.” Rachel was watching her with that particular expression, the one that meant she was seeing more than Miller wanted her to see. “Not just dislike. Genuine hatred.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to tell me what this is really about?”
The question hung in the air between them. Miller thought about all the things she could say. I fell in love with your client’s ex-wife. I know those claims are lies because I know Astoria in ways never did, never could, never wanted to.
“I can’t,” Miller said finally. “I’m sorry. I wish I could.”
Rachel nodded slowly. She didn’t push—she never did—but something in her eyes said she understood more than what Miller was saying.
Rachel paused at the door. “For what it’s worth, you did good work on this case before you left. Whatever happens in that courtroom, you should be proud of that."
“Thank you.” Miller meant it more than she could say.
Then she was gone, and Miller was alone. The conference room felt too quiet, and Miller sat motionless staring at nothing.
She couldn’t save her relationship. She couldn’t find a way to have both love and integrity, but she’d stopped Valerie from using lies to destroy Astoria in court.
She’d spoken up when she could’ve stayed silent, refusing to let the woman she loved be painted as unstable and dangerous by the person who’d spent so long trying to break her.
It was a small victory, but it didn’t fill the hollow space in her chest or make the nights any easier. But it was something.
Eventually, the ache would fade. Eventually, she’d stop reaching for her phone to text someone who wasn’t there. Eventually, Astoria would become a memory instead of a wound.
Miller didn’t believe any of it, but she’d keep going anyway because that’s what you did. You survived. You got through it. You held onto whatever small victories you could find and tried to make them enough.
She pushed through the stairwell door and headed down to her office, alone.