A sudden shower began just as I went downstairs for lunch. After a violent gust of wind, my umbrella was violently wrenched from my grip and sent skittering across the wet pavement. Within seconds, the downpour soaked me to the skin. Instinctively, I looked up, searching for a familiar figure. A few yards ahead, my boyfriend, Drew, was holding his large black umbrella steadily over my best friend Claire’s head. His own left shoulder was completely drenched, but his eyes were bright with laughter as he talked with her. They were in the middle of discussing a multi-million-dollar cross-border acquisition. He didn’t even notice that I had fallen far behind, shivering and soaked. At our law firm, they were known as the “golden duo”—senior partners with a flawless track record, the stars of the litigation department. I, on the other hand, was just a paralegal who had failed the bar exam three times. Whenever I got discouraged, Drew would pinch my nose and give me a soft laugh. “Don’t worry about memorizing the statutes, sweetheart,” he would say. “My silly little girl doesn’t need to worry about dry codes. Just stay home and let me take care of you.” Then he would turn around and step into the courtroom with Claire, sharp-tongued and ruthless, conquering every case they touched. I wiped the cold rain from my face and kicked the broken umbrella aside. Watching their retreating shoulders, a sudden wave of nausea washed over me. This race to catch up to him, a race that had nearly cost me my sanity—I didn’t want to run it anymore. … The rain didn’t let up. I didn’t try to catch up with them. Instead, I turned around and walked back to the office alone. The receptionist looked up as I entered, her mouth opening slightly, but she didn’t dare ask. I changed into a spare shirt I kept in my locker and wrung the water from my hair, letting the damp strands fall over my shoulders. When I sat down at my desk, the screen was still open to the evidence list Drew had assigned me that morning. My phone lit up. It was a message from him. “Mia, send me the index for the Eastlake case before three. Make sure the formatting is correct this time.” I stared at the words. No “Where are you?” No “It’s pouring, did you get caught in it?” Just business. He hadn’t even realized I hadn’t followed them to lunch. Or perhaps he had never expected me to join them in the first place. I let the screen go dark and didn’t reply. At two o’clock, Drew and Claire returned to the office, walking one after the other. Claire’s yellow dress was perfectly dry, her hair styled and light, her heels clicking softly as she passed my desk. “Mia? Oh, when did you get back?” She tilted her head, her face a picture of innocent surprise. I gripped my pen tightly. “A while ago.” “Oh, dear. We were so caught up in our conversation, we didn’t even notice you had fallen behind.” Before I could answer, Drew walked over. He took a strawberry cream candy from his pocket and placed it gently next to my keyboard. Then, he gave my nose a brief, familiar pinch. “Why is your hair wet? Did you run around in the rain without an umbrella again?” You were the one who held the umbrella over someone else, I wanted to say. You forgot I was even there. The words lodged in my throat, heavy and cold. I stayed silent. He didn’t wait for me to answer. He was already turning toward his private office. As he passed Claire, he paused. “Finish up the slides for this afternoon’s presentation for me, will you? I don’t trust anyone else to do it.” Claire smiled, gave me a quick wink, and hurried after him. I stared at the pink candy on my desk. I left it wrapped. As I was packing my bag that evening, Zoe, who worked at the adjacent desk, leaned over. “Hey, isn’t today your second anniversary with Drew? What are your plans?” Our second anniversary. Right. A month ago, I had booked a window table at Sora, the high-end sushi restaurant across the street. But last week, Drew told me he had a client dinner and asked me to cancel it, promising we would make it up later. I had listened to him. I had canceled the reservation. Seeing my silence, Zoe added hesitantly, “Claire posted on her feed at lunch. She said she and Drew were celebrating the M&A closing at Sora. They looked like they were having a great time.” I opened my phone and pulled up Claire’s profile. In the photo, Drew was leaning slightly toward her, a relaxed smile on his lips. They looked perfect together, holding up two glasses of red wine with beautifully plated dishes between them. The caption read: Partners in crime! Long live the team! The timestamp was 12:57 PM. My umbrella had broken at 12:45 PM. It had taken him exactly twelve minutes to forget about me and raise a glass with her at the very table I had given up. I turned off my phone, picked up the strawberry candy, and threw it into the trash. The next morning, I arrived thirty minutes early. Because of my mood the day before, my work on the Eastlake index had been rushed, and I wanted to review it before Drew saw it. But when I opened the filing cabinet, my drafts were gone. In their place lay a beautifully compiled, completed index. On the cover page, the author’s name was printed clearly: Claire. I flipped through the pages, and my chest tightened. The structure was mine. The numbering logic was mine. Even a typo on page four—writing “jugdment” instead of “judgment”—was mine. But this version was formatted flawlessly, complete with professional yellow highlights. I took the document and knocked on Drew’s office door. He was leaning back in his chair, scrolling through his phone. When he saw me, he gestured with his chin. “What’s up?” “This index. The original framework was mine.” He glanced down at the paper, his brow furrowing slightly. “Claire stayed up late to finish that. Your draft was a mess, Mia. We couldn’t send that to a client.” “But she built it directly on top of my work.” “Mia.” Drew set his phone down, his expression hardening. “You wrote a basic outline. Claire did the actual heavy lifting—case citations, formatting, refining the details. The final product is hers.” His gaze was level, devoid of warmth. “It’s getting exhausting watching you constantly try to compete with Claire. Be reasonable. I have a meeting, you should head out.” Before I could speak, the door opened. Claire stood there, carrying two cups of coffee. “Mia! Oh, you’re here…” She looked apologetic, handing me one of the cups. “I’m so sorry about the index. I was looking over your draft last night and saw some areas that needed adjusting, so I just went ahead and did it…” She turned to Drew. “Why don’t we add Mia’s name to the cover? After all, I did use her outline.” Her words were polite, but the phrase “add Mia’s name” made it clear who she believed the real author was. Before I could refuse, Drew waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine, let’s move on. Mia, run down to the courthouse this afternoon and file these documents for Claire. Be a team player.” Be a team player. Run her errands. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and nodded. “Okay.” I spent the entire afternoon waiting in line at the courthouse. By the time I returned to the office, it was past six, and most of the staff had already gone home. As I passed Drew’s office, I noticed the door was slightly ajar. The light was still on. I paused, and Claire’s voice floated out, freezing me in my tracks. “Do you think Mia will try the bar exam again?” Drew’s reply was lazy, offhand. “With her brain? What’s the difference between taking it three times or ten?” Claire giggled. “Then why do you keep telling her to study?” “It keeps her busy. Besides, she won’t pass anyway.” He paused, his tone shifting to one of casual certainty. “Where else would she go without me? What firm would hire a legal assistant who can’t even pass the bar? Keeping her here means I can protect her. It’s easier for both of us.” His tone was perfectly relaxed, as if he were stating an obvious, undeniable fact. I stared through the crack in the door. He was leaning back in his chair, ankles crossed, a faint smile on his face. He probably didn’t think he was being cruel. To him, this was simply the truth. I stepped back quietly and walked to my desk. When I sat down, my hands were shaking. This was how he saw me. A helpless, incompetent stray he was keeping out of charity. After that day, I began spending my evenings at the public library. I left the office at five sharp every day without saying goodbye. I bought two new sets of study materials—one for my office locker, one for the library. I drew up a strict study schedule. On the notebook Drew had once given me, I filled the pages with key concepts, mapping out my daily chapter goals and practice questions. This was my fourth attempt at the bar, and I was going to pass. On the twelfth night, while I was in the middle of a practice exam, a hand suddenly pulled the pen from my grasp. I looked up. Drew was standing over me, hands in his pockets, looking down at my desk. “Zoe said you’ve been coming here every night.” I reached for my pen, but he pulled his hand back, keeping it out of reach. Then, he bent down, bringing his handsome face close to mine, his eyes softening with that familiar, patronizing tenderness. “My silly girl, why are you torturing yourself again?” “Give me my pen back.” “Come home. I bought those mango pastries you like.” In the past, those words would have had me packing my bags immediately. But now, I didn’t move. “I’m not finished.” He raised an eyebrow, as if my defiance was an amusing novelty. He didn’t push further but sat down opposite me and began scrolling through his phone. When the library closed, we walked out together. On the way to the car, he took my hand, his thumb rubbing the back of my knuckles. “Mia, there’s no need to push yourself this hard. Being a practicing lawyer is ten times more stressful than this. I don’t want to see you suffer.” It sounded like affection. But underneath, the message was clear: You can’t do it, so stop wasting your time. I didn’t say a word. On the nineteenth day, I went downstairs to grab my takeout lunch. It took less than five minutes. When I returned to my desk, the notebook I had spent the last month pouring my soul into was soaked in dark brown liquid. Coffee. It was completely drenched, the pages stuck together and turning to mush. Claire was standing nearby, clutching a tissue, her face pale with distress. “Oh my god, Mia! I am so, so sorry! I was walking past and completely bumped your cup…” But I hadn’t poured any water that day. My cup was still dry, sitting inside my desk drawer. Only my notebook had been on the desk. “I’m so sorry, let me buy you a new one…” Claire reached out to grab my wrist, her eyes brimming with tears. A few coworkers nearby began chiming in, trying to keep the peace. “Mia, Claire didn’t mean to do it. Don’t be upset…” I pulled my hand back and picked up the ruined notebook. One month of work, three hours a day, over eight hundred synthesis points, gone. “It’s fine,” I said quietly. I threw the notebook into my drawer. I didn’t go to the library that night. I stood outside Drew’s office door, waiting until nine o’clock for his meetings to finish. When he finally stepped out, I looked him in the eye. “Drew, we need to break up.” The hallway was silent save for the hum of the air conditioning. He stared at me for a few seconds, then let out a short laugh. “Mia, what is it now?” He pulled me into his office, closing the door behind us, and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Who upset you? Is this about the notebook? Claire was practically in tears, she didn’t do it on purpose—” “It’s not about the notebook.” “Then what is it?” His hands slid from my shoulders to the back of my neck, his palms warm against my skin. “Mia, you know how much you mean to me. I just don’t want you to burn out. Is that a crime?” Looking into his eyes, my heart gave a painful, familiar squeeze. He leaned in closer, resting his forehead against mine. “Stop playing around. You always let your imagination get the better of you. We’re not breaking up. Tomorrow, I’ll take you out to Sora. I know I messed up last week, and I’ve been too busy lately. Let’s call it a makeup dinner for our anniversary.” He leaned in to kiss me. Just then, a knock sounded on the door. Claire’s voice came through the wood. “Drew, I have Mr. Ward on the line. It’s urgent.” Drew kissed my forehead quickly, released me, and patted my head. “Go on home first, sweetheart. We’ll talk when I’m done.” He opened the door and walked out. He didn’t mention the dinner the next day. Or the day after that. On the fourth day, HR called me into their office. “Mia, several partners have raised concerns that your recent performance has been sub-par. Given that you haven’t passed the bar… we would like to offer you a transfer to the administration department.” As I walked out of the HR office, I saw Claire leaving Drew’s room, holding a folder. On the cover, the bold letters read: Project Team Reassignment Request. The sight felt like a physical blow. She stopped when she saw me. “Mia? Oh, what are you doing here…” I didn’t look at her. I walked back to my desk, reached into the bottom drawer, and pulled out the resignation letter I had written three days ago. I placed it on the HR director’s desk. Packing my things took less than ten minutes. Three years of my life fit into a small paper bag. Drew came rushing out when he heard, his brows knit tightly. “Mia, who told you to resign?” “I did.” “Why? If something’s wrong, we can talk about it.” I held the paper bag tightly. “You were right, Drew. Maybe this career isn’t for me.” His face paled slightly. “What did you hear?” “It doesn’t matter anymore.” I turned toward the elevator. He didn’t follow immediately, but his voice carried down the hall. “Mia! Where are you going to go? Be reasonable!” Just before the elevator doors closed, I saw Claire step up next to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. I could read Drew’s lips as he muttered to her: She’ll be back in a couple of days. The doors shut, and I left the building. That afternoon, I went to Drew’s apartment, packed the rest of my belongings, and moved back to my parents’ house. I changed my phone number and deleted my social media accounts. I used my savings to enroll in an intensive, full-time bar prep course, spending twelve hours a day in a silent study room. Drew called my parents once. Other than that, there was no sign of him. At that moment, whatever feelings I had left for him finally died. During those months of isolation, no one pinched my nose or called me a dummy. No one interrupted my study sessions with sweets to tell me to stop wasting my time. No one “accidentally” spilled coffee on my notes. In September, I sat in the exam room. When the booklet was opened, my mind was entirely clear. Every rule, every exception, every case citation was exactly where it needed to be. In November, the results were released. I scored a 310 on the Uniform Bar Exam. The passing score in our state was 266. The day I received my score report, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and cried for a long time. It wasn’t just relief; it was the sudden, overwhelming realization that I had never been the incompetent girl Drew had made me believe I was. Six months later. At the County Courthouse, Courtroom 3, a contract dispute was underway. The plaintiff: Vertex Solutions. The defendant: Luminary Group. Representing the defendant: Drew Holloway and Claire Sterling. I stood in the hallway outside the courtroom, adjusting the files in my briefcase. The man standing beside me turned his head to look at me. “Nervous?” Adrian Mercer, senior partner at Mercer Law. Three months ago, during my interview, he had reviewed my resume, asked a few technical questions, and then looked up at me. “Why do you want to be a litigator?” I had looked him dead in the eye and said, “Because I can.” He had signed my offer letter on the spot. “Not nervous at all,” I replied. “Let’s go.” The heavy doors of the courtroom swung open. Drew was sitting at the defense table, flipping through a binder, while Claire whispered something in his ear. Adrian and I walked in together and took our places at the plaintiff’s table. The moment Drew looked up and saw me, he froze.
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