“Go on,” Stewart replies.
“Um, a couple of months ago, I found out I have a daughter. She’s three months old. It’s been a bit chaotic in my life as I try to balance work and being a father.”
Confusion seems to wash over both of their faces.
“Did the mother ask for joint custody?” Henry questions.
“No, sir. The mother decided she wasn’t cut out for the role. She is no longer in the picture.”
Their eyes dart briefly to one another, silently communicating before returning to me—both looking a shade more unsettled than I’d like.
“Is this why your pitch for the case fell so flat?” Henry’s voice is like ice, each word clipped and deliberate.
He bypassed the part about me being a father, about the struggle of juggling such important roles in my life. Straight to this case. Just like my father.
It stings.
“Uh, yes.” I scratch the back of my head uncomfortably. “I knew I wasn’t going to be able to deliver my best while tryingto navigate this new life. My available working hours have definitely shifted.”
“Becoming partner at this firm often means a sacrifice is needed. Both Henry and I have families, but we did it the right way. We have wives at home to take care of our children, wives who know what kind of commitment it takes to succeed in this business. That’s what a woman is for. How do you suppose you’re going to be able to remain properly committed to your work while also taking on the role a woman should have?”
My nostrils flare with fury. I knew these men were cutthroat, old school. But I made excuses all of these years for why I’ve stuck around.
Suddenly, it feels impossible to ignore the alarms sounding in my head. They do not have my best interest at heart. Not only is what he said incredibly misogynistic, but it lacks any sort of understanding outside of his own small-world views.
It’s like everything clicks into place. I’m not happy here. Working here has sucked so much joy from my life. It turned me into one of the men I’d always detested, growing up. No matter how I spin it, I became the very thing I’d claimed to hate.
Bile rises in my throat at the thought. “With all due respect, Stewart, my daughter means more to me than any client or case ever could. For years, I’ve compromised my own integrity to reach the top at your firm. Today, I’ve finally seen the light. I want nothing to do with you or this firm who doesn’t support the people who helped build it. I will pack up my office. I will have someone get in touch regarding buying me out.”
I turn around and walk toward my office with stiff dignity. It doesn’t take long for me to pack up my belongings. As I place myawards and framed degrees in a box, it’s impossible for me not to notice the lack of pictures of family or friends. No photos of a wife or children fill the space. Just endless hours of school and work, culminating in an epic quitting story that will surely give my friends a laugh at our next encounter.
When everything is packed up, I take a look at my office. My eyes scan what was once a badge of honor in my world. Corner office in Manhattan, hand-carved mahogany desk that cost more than most people’s cars.
Anger radiates through me as I think of all the time and energy spent in here, cleaning up others’ messes. I gave it everything I had, just for my people to abandon me the moment my life takes a turn and doesn’t fit perfectly into their mold.
At least I know that money is not an issue for me. I never cared for a private jet or yacht to blow away my savings. Plus, my shares of the firm will certainly add up to enough to pay off my penthouse in full. Not to mention the investment I made into Sawyer and Dean’s tech company a decade ago, which is now a billion-dollar monster that pays incredible dividends.
As I walk back to my sister’s place, the weight of my decision plays in my head. I’m sick to my stomach at the thought of spending so many years working for such pricks—more so the idea that I’m one of those pricks.
I can’t even talk to the one person who called me on it. She knew I was swimming in a pool of creatures that I’d claimed to despise. I defended my actions for so long, telling myself it was part of growing up, that I didn’t even recognize the dark world that surrounded me. A world where everyone is only out for themselves and will stomp on you the moment they smell a hint of weakness.
I need to see her. This isn’t fair.
Why does her mother’s mistake have to dictate a lifetime of suffering for the two of us? Maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe there’s a version of the truth that doesn’t destroy us but frees us instead.
I call Eva to see how long she can watch Eli. Roman’s out of town, and the guilt of even asking hits hard.
But when I tell her I quit and that I need to see Jessie, she groans and tells me, “Then stop talking about it and go to her already.”
She has no idea what I’m about to do—or maybe she does. My pulse won’t steady, my thoughts race. I shove down the guilt and walk down the street toward Jessie’s place. One way or another, everything is going to change tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jessie
I’m deep into binge-watching my comfort show. After crying myself to sleep late last night, I woke up with no motivation to do anything but wallow in self-pity. I’m giving myself the weekend to feel however I want to feel. After tomorrow, I’m pulling myself together and moving forward with no regrets.
For now, comfy pajamas, reruns of my favorite show, and ice cream are my therapy. And crying. Tons of crying. My eyes feel like they’re swollen from a crazy case of allergies.
