"You can ask. I reserve the right to invoke the Fifth."
"Why family law? You always talked about corporate, big cases, making partner by thirty."
I took a sip of coffee, buying time. "I did make partner. Then I un-made it."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I took a leave of absence." The half lies left a sour taste in my mouth. "Indefinite. The partners were understanding."
"Understanding about what?"
I met her eyes. She was doing that thing she always did, looking straight through me, seeing the parts I tried to hide.
"My parents died," I said, which was true but not the whole truth, "Their estate is a mess. I needed time."
"How long are you staying?"
"I don't know."
"Where are you living?"
"Their house. Temporarily."
"That's a lot of 'I don't knows' and 'temporarilys.'"
"I'm a lawyer. Vague answers are my specialty."
She didn't laugh. "Miles. What's really going on?"
The question was an invitation to honesty I couldn't accept. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
"Tell me about you first," I said, deflecting. "Your divorce."
She flinched almost imperceptibly. "That's not exactly light conversation."
"Neither is my stuff. Fair trade."
She looked down at her coffee, tracing the rim with one finger. "It was... a slow ending. We wanted different things. By the end, we couldn't even agree on what those things were."
"What did you want?"
"A family." Her words came out quietly, weighted with grief I recognized. "Kids. The whole thing. We tried for years. It didn't happen."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She looked up, her smile thin. "He's happy now. New wife, a baby. Got everything he wanted, just... not with me."
The pain beneath her careful words was palpable. I wanted to reach across the table, to touch her, to offer comfort I had no right to give.
"For what it's worth," I said, "he's an idiot."
"You don't even know him."
"I know he let you go. That's enough evidence for my assessment."
Her eyes softened. "That's sweet. Misguided, but sweet."
"I'm full of misguided sweetness. Ask anyone."
