In my haste, I bump into someone and am taken aback before I collect myself and look up. The gentleman I ran into is with another man. Both of them have oddly familiar faces that I struggle to place immediately. My memory recall is temporarily hamstrung by my anger.

“Woah, woah, woah, Mrs. Morgan, where ya off to in such a hurry?” The words come pouring out laced with a heavy Texan accent. Now I remember. These are the two executives from PetroNext, the very two who sat in to observe Senator McCallan’s trial.

“Gentlemen,” I reply, not answering their question.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” one of them says. It doesn’t matter which one as they’re spitting images of one another.

“I highly doubt you feel that way.”

“Fair is fair, Mrs. Morgan. And you won fair and square… this time,” the gentleman says to me, a smirk that can’t be described as anything other than nefarious, growing across his face.

“Right… Why don’t you both just run along into Kent’s office so he can play nice. I have actual work to do. Later y’all.” I blurt out. Not the smoothest of exchanges but I don’t have time for them.

As soon as I’m back in my office, Anne pops in. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing,” I say, without taking my eyes off my monitor.

“That bad, huh?”

“Can you just bring me some coffee?” I huff.

Anne nods and disappears quickly.

I didn’t leave the office early. I didn’t even leave for lunch. I stayed there all day like a goddamn hourly employee just to ensure my presence was known. Where does anyone at the office get off questioning me? I’ve worked harder than every other lawyer here, and I’ve earned my right to come and go as I please.

* * *

I close the hatch of my Range Rover, sling the reusable bags over my shoulders, and pick up an overstuffed box. It’s dark out, and I’m careful to watch my feet as I walk in order to not trip on the way up the stairs of the porch. My heels click on each step, and once I’m standing at the door, I consider knocking—for only a moment. Instead, I reach for the handle, pull open the screen door, and let myself in.

“Hello?” Adam calls nervously from the living room. “Who’s there?”

I don’t answer and instead walk into the kitchen. He’s sitting on the couch in the living room, dressed in sweats and a white T-shirt, sipping at a glass of scotch. He’s made no effort to shave or comb his hair. Despite all that, he still looks handsome.

“Sarah? What are you doing here?”

I set the box and bags down on the island. “I brought you some provisions.”