Outside, February sleet struck the courthouse windows in little gray bursts. Inside, the air smelled faintly of old paper, polished wood, and expensive perfume from the attorney seated beside Ethan. My own lawyer, Dana Feldman, was flipping through the final packet with the same calm precision she brought to everything, but I barely heard her voice over the memory that had not left me in ten years.
She’s just… around.
It had been said lightly. Casually. Almost lazily.
And it had changed my life.
Ethan signed the last page with a flourish, capped the pen, and slid the packet back with a smile so satisfied it made something old and bruised in me go perfectly still.
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