My mother called at 2:07 a.m. and said, “You can c…

She hung up without saying it back.

I sat in the dark for a long time after that, the phone cooling in my hand. I told myself I was only going because it was easier than fighting. Because it was one dinner.

Because I could smile politely, say almost nothing, and drive back to D.C. after dessert. But the truth sat heavier than that.

It hurt. It still hurt. Not in a dramatic, movie-scene way.

In a slow, old-bruised way. Like pressing on the same spot for twenty years and acting surprised it never stopped being tender. The next day, I spent twelve hours pretending none of it bothered me.

I drafted motions, fielded client calls, corrected a first-year associate’s citation format, and argued about discovery deadlines with opposing counsel who used the phrase “with all due respect” right before saying something stupid. I did my job well. I always did.