I enter the meeting room holding the files of my next settlement case in my arms. I can’t help but walk on air around the office surrounded by a halo of happiness. As I move toward my chair, I go over my notes on the terms our client’s willing to offer. I glance at the opposing lawyers, who are already seated at the glass table opposite to me, and resume my quick shuffling of documents. That’s until my brain registers one of the faces I just glanced at. My halo of happiness shatters as my head jerks back up. I look at the only woman sitting on the other side of the room. Oh gosh, it’s her! And she’s looking at me with a face that says, “Yes, it’s me. You wedding-crashing bitch!”

Crap. What do I do now? This is Sharon. The woman I stole Jake from. The woman whose life I ruined. What’s she doing in my office? Is she a lawyer? She has to be. Panic floods my body, and as I try to sit, I crash into the chair, sending all my papers flying in the air. This is like one of those forever-embarrassing high school moments. Like walking across the cafeteria, tripping, and splashing the lunch tray on yourself in front of the entire school.

I collect my papers in a dignified way and sit at the grown-ups table, trying to appear respectable. I so wish my face wasn’t so hot right now. I must be redder than a chili pepper. And my boss is in the room. Sweat starts pooling under my armpits. At least I’m wearing a white blouse. I hope it doesn’t show.

Thank goodness I asked my junior associate to present our proposal today as a learning experience. I wouldn’t be able to talk right now. I keep my gaze low and look at my watch under the table. The meeting shouldn’t last more than an hour; everything’s straightforward and all the parties should be able to get what they’re after easily. So no big deal.

“That is when the opposing counselor doesn’t hold the biggest grudge against you,” says a nasty little voice in my head. All right, Gemma, let’s get ready for the longest sixty minutes of your life.

I stay silent for the entire negotiation and only nod here and there at Logan, my junior associate, who’s doing a wonderful job with his presentation. I keep my gaze lowered, but I can feel her blue eyes on me most of the time. It’s as if she’s drilling guilt messages into my skull:

“You stole my husband.”

“You ruined my wedding day.”

“How does it feel to be this happy at the expense of other people?”

I could die of shame. The way she looked at me. Withering. It was as if I was clubbing a baby seal or something.