Eight Years Lost, Now Truly Free

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ime, it was different. This time, as I walked towards HR, there was a lightness in my step, a defiant purpose

nd-faced woman who had been with the firm longer than anyone, looked up from her computer,

against my leg. "Ms. Jenkins," I began, my voice stead

You just... you just missed out on junior partnership, I know, but I thought you were going to stay and fi

med, meeting her eyes.

er voice low. "Does B

on't until it's done." I paused, then added, "If

le touched her lips. She nodded slowly. "I understand, Alena. Truly. You're one of the be

I simply nodded, a tight lump forming

d. The air filled with the quiet click-clack of the keys,

d it. I had been ignoring him since I hit send on that single, defiant "No." He'd c

oss the desk. "Just sign here, Alena. And your final

gned my name, a flourish of freedom. It felt

trying to reach you. He's been calling my office

head. "It doesn'

It was Blake. "Alena, what the hell is going on? My assistant just told me you resig

imes. After the abortion, when I'd been a shell of myself, he'd bought me a diamond bracelet. "For being so understanding," he'd said. When I' d learned he' d taken a weekend trip with another associate for a "clie

me, it was pure disgust. The thought of his hands on me, his s

ight, Alena. Whatever it is. Name your price. We

e back with a weekend trip and promises.

Jenkins's desk. An old, crumpled candy wra

ply. One wor

d, "Don't contact me a

sed to stay at his place when he asked, neve

nnerving silence stretched between Ms. Jenkins an

cked. He genuinely couldn't comprehend that I, Alena Taylor, his "free paralegal," his "damaged goods," had finally w

for a rude