I freeze, stunned, glancing around as if everyone can see my world collapsing. My seatmate is lost in sleep, chin tucked to her chest, and I ache with envy. I want to disappear, to be anywhere but here, watching my ambitions unravel. I scroll, searching for a lifeline, but there’s only the sharp sting of finality. My anxiety spikes as I check my other inboxes. Of course, James Wang’s attorney has already sent an email:‘URGENT: Case Status.’Even the subject line makes my stomach twist.
I open the email.
“Dear Ms. Lee, please be advised that our clients have reconciled and wish to terminate all proceedings, effective immediately.”The rest is just legal noise, like a breakup text in email form. I read it twice, hoping for a loophole that isn’t there. The Hui-Wang are gone. I let out a shaky breath. My shot at partnership—gone. I slam my laptop shut, frustration rising. This happens. Clients get back together. I should be happy, right? What’s the crappy saying? Love conquers all.
I tip my head back and close my eyes. The plane’s white noise morphs into a harsh hiss inside my skull. That earlier happiness now feels like a cruel joke. Pain pulses behind my eyes, radiating through my head. Losing these clients isn’t just a setback—it’s a brutal reminder of everything I stand to lose. I can already see William’s smug, tight-lipped smile when he finds out. He’ll fake disappointment, maybe even sympathy, but he’s dying to see me stumble. He wants to gloat, to claim partnership and the Seoul office for himself.
I’m happy for Evelyn. Really. But fuck my life.
The weekend’s happiness evaporates. Pain hammers at my temples. It’s as if the universe is punishing me for daring tochoose romance over work. I should have checked Evelyn’s email sooner, should have reminded her of all James’ broken promises. Now they’re ‘trying for a baby’—I’ve watched that train wreck unfold in my office at least thirty times.
I flag down the flight attendant and order two drinks. If I could, I’d ask for six. When the gin and tonics arrive, I down half in one gulp. I’m halfway through the second when I sense someone watching me.
The woman beside me eyes my drink. “Bad news?”
I jolt. I thought she was asleep.
“The sighing,” she continues. “And the way you slammed your laptop.”
“Just work,” I mutter, avoiding eye contact. “Sorry I woke you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She shifts in her seat. “Been there.”
I glance over. She’s probably mid-forties, a Cartier watch glinting from beneath her sleeve, wedding band worn thin. She strikes me as the type whose LinkedIn headline reads ‘thoughtful leader.’
“Lost a client,” I hear myself say. “A big one. My shot at making partner.”
She winces. “Ouch. What industry?”
“Law. Divorce attorney.”
Her eyebrows rise. “You seem young for that.”
My spine stiffens. “I’m thirty-two.”
“No offense meant,” she says, hands raised slightly. “Just seems like heavy baggage to carry at any age.”
“Somebody has to do it.”
She studies me, her gaze uncomfortably perceptive. “But why you specifically?”
I take another sip. “Because I’m good at it.”
She sits in silence, patient and self-assured, as if she’s already read my whole story. In another universe, she’d be a therapist instead of whatever high-powered job her tailored suit suggests.
“Because I understand it,” I finally say, the gin loosening my tongue. “I know why relationships fall apart. I’ve seen the patterns, recognized the warning signs. I just want my clients to get what they deserve.”
“So, you help people sift through the wreckage.”
“Something like that.” I watch the ice dissolve in my glass, the gin growing weaker by the second. “But lately, my clients are doing the opposite—patching things up, getting back together, even planning babies.”
“That’s bad?” She sounds genuinely confused.
“It’s…” I search for the right word. “Statistically unlikely to succeed.”
She laughs warmly, without a trace of mockery. “Oh, honey, if we all lived by statistics, nobody would ever fall in love.”
Her words echo Aaron’s past jabs. I shift uncomfortably, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.
