Chapter 3: The Lawyer Becomes The Client!
534 Words
The next morning, Ismene sat in her office, blinds half-closed against the pale sun. Files lay open in front of her, but she wasn’t reading them. Her thoughts were elsewhere—on divorce petitions, property settlements, custody battles she had navigated for clients over the years.
Now, the client was her.
The irony twisted like a knife. She had been the unflinching advocate for others, the shield against injustice, the strategist who found loopholes no one else saw. And yet here she was, staring at her own name on a blank legal document, unable to bring herself to fill it in.
Could she represent herself?
The law warned against it. Judges frowned upon it. Emotion clouded reason. But her pride burned hotter than caution. She knew Jared—his tactics, his charisma, his ability to manipulate perception. If she trusted anyone else with her case, would they understand how he operated? Would they see through his charm the way she did?
She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. The courtroom flashed before her in her mind: her at one table, Jared at the other. She could hear the echoes of arguments, the weight of evidence. She could see herself rising, objecting, cross-examining the man she once loved.
The thought made her stomach twist, but it also lit a fire.
If I don’t fight for myself, who will?
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It was Michael Lowe, her partner in the firm, holding two coffees.
“You look like hell,” he said bluntly, setting one in front of her.
“Good morning to you too.”
He sat across from her, studying her face with the kind of scrutiny only years of partnership allowed. “I heard about Jared.”
Her throat tightened, but she kept her voice even. “News travels fast.”
“It always does. Listen, Ismene… you can’t do this alone. Don’t even think about representing yourself.”
Her eyes snapped open, sharp. “Why not?”
“Because you’re human. Because you’re angry. And because anger gets in the way of strategy.”
She bristled. “I’ve won cases on less.”
“Not this case,” he countered. “This is your life, not a client’s. You’ll be cross-examining your own grief.”
She hated that he was right. And yet, beneath the logic, pride still pulsed, insistent. She had built her reputation on control, on clarity, on never losing. How could she surrender her own fight to someone else?
“I’ll think about it,” she said finally.
Michael leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Don’t think too long. Jared’s already moving pieces. I saw the filings this morning—he’s retained representation in Minnesota.”
Her chest tightened. Minnesota. His home ground. If proceedings shifted there, she’d be fighting on his turf.
The war had already begun.
As Michael left, Ismene turned back to her desk. She picked up her pen and, with a steady hand, wrote her own name at the top of the petition:
✨ Ismene Sankare vs. Jared Morgan. ✨
It was official. The lawyer had become the client.
And the battle of her life had just started.
- Writer
