The office felt colder at night, the sterile glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows across stacks of legal briefs and depositions. The scent of stale coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the sharpness of ink on freshly printed pages. Papers rustled under her hands, the only sound filling the silence between them.

Andy sat at his desk, his tie loosened, the weight of the trial pressing into his shoulders. He had stopped keeping track of time—days blurred together, filled with courtroom battles, desperate glances from Laurie, and the heavy knowledge that his son’s fate rested on forces beyond his control.

She was always there. Quiet, efficient, anticipating what he needed before he even asked. Late nights bled into early mornings, and somewhere along the way, her presence became more than just professional. The way she lingered when setting down a case file, the way her fingers brushed the rim of his coffee cup before sliding it toward him. It was subtle, but he felt it.

And then, tonight. A moment too long. A hesitation when she reached for the folder in front of him. The air between them shifted. He looked up, really looked at her—soft eyes filled with something unspoken, exhaustion laced with something he had no right to acknowledge.

His voice was rough, weary. “You should go home.”

She didn’t move.

Neither did he.

His throat tightened. The trial had stripped him of so much—his reputation, his certainty, the illusion that love alone could keep his family intact. But here, in the quiet of his office, with her standing so close, something cracked open inside him.

When he finally spoke again, it was barely a whisper.

“I don’t know what’s left of me after this.”