“Who?”
“Jasmine Cole.”
I knew Jasmine.
Excellent.
“Fine.”
“Josephine.”
“What?”
“You are doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Turning this into everyone else’s case so you don’t have to feel yours.”
I looked at her.
“That sounds like Margaret.”
“Margaret is smart.”
“I dislike both of you.”
“We survive.”
Denise stood.
“You need to go home.”
“I have afternoon matters.”
“They were reassigned.”
“I have chambers work.”
“No.”
“You are not my judge.”
“Thank God.”
She picked up my coat.
“Come on.”
I went home.
Reluctantly.
My apartment was in downtown Monroe, twelve minutes from courthouse.
No husband.
No children.
Not because I opposed either.
Life had simply organized itself differently.
I had been engaged once at thirty-one.
Ended before wedding.
No dramatic betrayal.
We wanted incompatible lives.
He wanted Atlanta.
Children.
Private practice.
I wanted public defense and eventually bench.
We loved one another enough to stop before resentment.
Since then, relationships had happened.
None stayed.
My mother occasionally asked whether I was lonely.
I usually said no.
That night I was.
Not because house was empty.
Because silence left too much room for replay.
Miller calling:
“Black coat.”
His hand.
The slap.
Your Honor.
That phrase bothered me more than the strike.
Your Honor.
Two words changed everything.
They should not have.
If Thomas had shouted:
“Her name is Josephine!”
Would Miller have stopped?
Maybe.
If Thomas said:
“She’s a lawyer!”
Probably.
If:
“She works here!”
Maybe.
But “Your Honor” did something else.
It introduced hierarchy.
A title Miller respected because it could hurt him.
I went to bathroom mirror.
The cheek swelling had darkened slightly.
Against my brown skin, bruising was subtle but visible.
I touched it.
Then imagined Maya Reynolds.
If Miller had struck her, would Thomas have run?
Maybe.
Thomas was good man.
But would Captain Ellis suspend Miller immediately?
Would outside prosecutor be appointed by noon?
Would state investigators arrive same day?
Would footage be preserved instantly?
Would national media care?
No.
That answer hurt worse than cheek.
My phone rang.
Mom.
I considered not answering.
Then remembered that ignoring my mother after national news involved my face would create a second emergency.
“Hello.”
“Josephine Elaine Caldwell.”