A flicker of uncertainty plays in her eyes, and I can practically see the gears turning in her mind. This isn’t easy for her; she’s a powerhouse, and here I am, seeing her vulnerable side. The one she always tries so hard to hide. But the last thing I want is to add to her burden or cause her pain. Ever.
“Stay.” She says it too fast—like it slips past whatever part of her was trying to keep it. A soft heat rises to her cheeks, coloring her before she can hide it, and she looks away immediately, like she’s just heard herself for the first time and doesn’t quite know what to do with it. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. I’ll stay.”
She takes a deep breath and begins typing. I deliberately look away, giving her privacy, but I can see her fingers flying over the screen, stopping occasionally as she considers her words. The attorney in her is probably crafting each sentence like a legal document, airtight and precise.
Finally, she puts the phone down. “I told him it’s over. That this is legally my apartment since only my name is on the lease. That he needs to find somewhere else to live.” Her voice trembles slightly. “And that if he comes back without my permission, I’ll file for a restraining order.”
“Good.” I nod my approval. “Clear boundaries.”
The phone buzzes again almost immediately. She flinches but doesn’t pick it up. “I can’t read whatever he’s saying right now.”
“Then don’t.” I gently take the phone and turn it face down on the table. “His words have no power unless you give them space in your head.”
She looks up at me with surprise. “So deep. Again.”
I shrug. “I like to read. Sometimes you can use phrases and pretend to be smarter than you are.”
That gets me a real smile—small—but genuine. She settles back against my side, and I cautiously return my arm to her shoulders. This time, it feels less like an emergency comfort and more like a choice.
“I should be at work,” she murmurs after a while. “I missed a meeting.”
I say nothing, letting her talk through it.
“I’ve never called in sick. Not once in four years.” She picks at a loose thread on her skirt. “Even when I had that flu last winter and was running a fever of 102.”
“Maybe today is good day to start then,” I suggest. “Sometimes your body needs rest. Sometimes your mind does.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “If I call in sick, Benjamin will know something’s wrong.”
“So? People get sick and there’s something wrong. You can admit it. No one’s life is perfect.”
“I don’t need days off.” She says it with such conviction that I almost laugh.
“Believe me, even the Iron Lady needs days off,” I tell her. “Otherwise she breaks, and coming back from that is harder than you’d think, let me tell you.”
She looks up at me, startled. “What did you call me?”
I feel heat rise to my face. “It’s what they call you, no? At the courthouse. Iron Lady.”
“How do you know that?”
“Hockey players talk in locker room. Lawyers talk in the courthouse halls. I listen.”
She laughs, a real laugh this time. “So, I’m courthouse gossip among the jocks now?”
“Only good gossip,” I assure her. “They told me not to mess with you. That you will destroy me with one eyebrow raise.’”
“One eyebrow raise, huh?” She demonstrates, arching a beautiful eyebrow in my direction.
I clutch my chest dramatically. “Yes, like that. It actually hurts just looking at it.”
Her laugh this time is freer, almost childlike. It transforms her face, erasing years of careful composure. She reaches for her phone again, but not to check Matthew’s messages.
“I’m calling in sick,” she announces, dialing before she can change her mind.
I watch as she puts on her professional voice, explaining to someone named Susan that she won’t be in again today. The transformation is impressive—even her posture changes as she speaks.
