My first day back in court came a few weeks after I returned to work. My colleague Nadine gave me a case that she had done all the written work for. “I’ve submitted everything to the court. All you have to do is argue it. Good luck!” she said.

“Are you sure you don’t want to argue it yourself?” I asked.

“No, I’m going on vacation. Finally!”

The judicial review was straightforward. The main argument was that a member of the Immigration and Refugee Board made an error in law. The presiding judge was more engaged than usual and peppered me and opposing counsel with questions. I relished the dance and never tired of going to court. Every case was different, and every appearance unpredictable. Counsel and judges brought up questions that I hadn’t prepared for, forcing me to think on my feet. Now I had an extra spring in my step and a more confident lilt to my voice. Any misgivings anyone had about my early return were erased when they saw my performance during my oral argument.

I never forgot the power that I saw Elaine Wong wield all those years ago. Even though she didn’t succeed in Alfred’s case, I felt that she was a sorcerer of some kind, that her role as a lawyer possessed a kind of magic.

When I was studying for my immigration law exam, I often thought about how Alfred might have won his case if he had come forward just one year later. The 1989 Tiananmen Square Massacre happened the June following Alfred’s departure from Sparwood. Chinese dissidents were recognized as refugees more readily after human rights organizations documented the wrongs perpetrated against people in China. As we watched the turmoil unfold on our television, Auntie Choo Neo furrowed her forehead, worried for the people on the streets, tsking in disbelief.

I’ll never forget Father’s reaction. “This is why I’ve never been to China,” he declared. “Look at how they treat people there. I’m so glad I live in a democracy, where I have citizenship and rights.”

If Mother had been with us, she would have defended China. She would have said things were more complicated. She would have blamed the disturbing news on the West’s portrayal of the events. She would have said that awful things happen everywhere. She would have implored Father not to abandon his kin.

Standing here in court sometimes felt surreal, and I wondered what Elaine Wong would say if she could see me now.

On my way to the robing room after the hearing, I saw a Chinese man waiting at the entrance to the courtroom. He stared at me intently. “Lily?” he said.

“Hello, do I know you?” I said politely. He looked familiar. Was he an old client? I was embarrassed that baby brain had affected my memory.

“It’s Alfred.”

I was shocked. Could it be? Then I saw it. He was older, grey, with more wrinkles, but the boyish grin and round face were the same.