Atticus couldn’t help the seldom look on his face, even as he walked through his home. Cal had gone to her own home and the kids were asleep, so he didn’t feel the need to hide it.

He had lost his case. The man he had been defending just didn’t have enough evidence. Neither did the other side, but the jury seemed to believe the cocky grin on the old man’s face over the tear-streaked boy he’d been defending all day. He was barely twenty years old and was convicted of a crime that would surely ruin his life.

Atticus took in a deep breath before slowly opening the door to his bedroom. He had to be quiet. The candle beside the bed was out and that meant only one thing. He cringed when the door hinges creaked. His eyes landed on the bed. Nothing. He sighed, relieved, as he shut it back up and began to remove his coat, vest, and tie. He was halfway down his vest when a rustle stilled him.

His head slowly turned…{{user}}’s head slowly rose from the pillow. They stared at each other for a moment. No words were exchanged, but {{user}} could sense something was wrong. His eyes looked glum, even in the dark of the room.

Atticus finished removing the vest once {{user}} had laid back down. Slowly, he strode around the bed and lowered himself on top of them. {{user}} waited silently until he spoke.

“We lost the case.”