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.
22
Chapter 22: Miller
The dress was all wrong.
Miller stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, tugging at the neckline of the green wrap dress she'd bought two years ago for a colleague's wedding. It was supposed to be flattering—Sienna had said it brought out her eyes—but tonight it just looked like she was trying too hard. Which she was. Which was the whole problem.
It’d been a full three weeks since she’d driven away from Astoria’s house with tears streaming down her cheeks. Twenty-one days of getting up, going to work, coming home, and lying awake in the dark. She'd lost seven pounds without meaning to. Her running times had gotten faster because she couldn't seem to stop pushing, couldn't find the pace that used to feel meditative instead of punishing.
And tonight, she was going on a date.
Lisa from the civil litigation department had cornered her in the break room on Monday, bright-eyed and conspiratorial. "I know someone perfect for you. Smart, funny, gorgeous—she's acorporate attorney at Whitfield & Holt. Recently single. I really think you'd hit it off."
Miller had said yes before she could think about it. Maybe that was what she needed: proof that she could feel something for someone else. Proof that what she'd had with Astoria wasn't the only possibility, justapossibility, one she'd closed the door on for good reasons.
She gave her reflection one last look, grabbed her keys, and left before she could change her mind.
The restaurant was called Barlow's, a farm-to-table place in the redeveloped warehouse district that Miller had walked past dozens of times without ever going in. It had white brick walls, Edison bulbs, reclaimed wood tables—the kind of place that charged eighteen dollars for a salad and called it "curated."
Cara was already there when Miller arrived, seated at a table near the window with a glass of white wine. She stood when she saw Miller approaching, and Miller's first thought was:Lisa wasn't wrong.
Cara had dark hair cut in a sharp bob, angular cheekbones, and a smile that was warm without being eager. She wore a rust-colored silk blouse and moved like someone who was comfortable in her own skin. She was objectively beautiful, objectively exactly the kind of woman Miller should be interested in.
“Miller?” Cara extended her hand. “I'm so glad you came. Lisa's told me a lot about you.”
“All good things, I hope.” The words came out on autopilot. Miller shook her hand—firm grip, smooth palm—and felt nothing.
They sat, scanned the menu, then ordered their meals. Cara asked about Miller’s practice area, and Miller heard herself explaining family law, the balance between litigation and mediation, and how she'd gotten into it. Cara was a good listener, leaning in at the right moments and asking follow-up questions that showed she was paying attention.
“That must be emotionally draining,” Cara said, “being in the middle of people’s worst moments.”
“It can be.” Miller took a sip of wine she didn’t taste. “But there’s something satisfying about helping people through it and finding a path forward.”
“Lisa mentioned you're passionate about it. She said you're one of the most principled attorneys she knows.”
Miller’s chest tightened.Principled.She thought about hotel rooms and secret meetings and all the lines she'd crossed anyway. “That's kind of her.”
Their appetizers arrived. Cara had ordered the burrata with fresh tomatoes, basil, and olive oil; Miller had ordered a beet bruschetta with goat cheese that she picked at without really eating it. The conversation flowed easily enough, and they talked about Cara's work in mergers and acquisitions, a funny story about a client who'd tried to negotiate deal terms in the middle of his daughter's ballet recital, and her recent trip to Portugal.
Miller laughed in the right places and asked questions. But underneath it all, there was nothing. No spark, no flutter, no moment where the air changed or her pulse quickened or she caught herself leaning closer without meaning to. Cara touched her arm to emphasize a point, and Miller felt the pressure of her fingers without any of the electricity that should have followed.
She kept waiting for it to kick in, for something to shift and the switch to flip the way it had with Astoria. Instead, she found herself listing all the ways Cara wasn't Astoria. The way Cara's laugh was bright and easy instead of rare and startling. The wayher gaze was warm but didn't feel like being seen all the way through. The way conversation required effort—pleasant and good, but effort all the same—instead of feeling like something inevitable.
The entrees came. Miller cut her salmon into smaller and smaller pieces.
“You okay?” Cara asked. “You seem a little distant.”
