355

I rubbed my tired eyes, glancing toward the clock. I wasn’t surprised to see it was past nine. Darkness had descended outside, the only light in my office the reading lamp behind me. My lined notepad was filled with my “chicken scratch,” as Rene called it. Wyatt had found a lot of bad behavior from my client’s soon-to-be ex-husband, some of which would help disprove his side of the story and give any judge pause before granting him anything but supervised visitation.

I stood, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and sipping it as I stared out the window and thinking.

I only took cases I believed in. I fought for embattled spouses, kids too little to have their voices heard, teenagers being screwed by the system. I dug and searched until I was certain my clients were on the up-and-up, refusing to represent anyone I felt was lying. You lied to me, and that was it. I removed myself from the case. The truth, I could handle, work with, figure out how to let it do the least amount of