The role I didn’t want

The ugliest part was the check. I took it without asking what I would actually be asked to do, because a five-figure fee can make any moral question feel negotiable. I keep hearing Margot say she thanked me for not destroying Destiny, and now I have to live inside the gap between what I accepted and what she needed.

I did not feel triumphant sitting beside her. I felt exposed. The job was supposed to give me direction: find the angle, apply pressure, close the case. Instead, the choice was painfully simple, and I could have failed it. That frightens me more than a bad client would. If I can stand on the right side when everything is obvious, what happens when the case is designed to blur the lines?

I also hated how graceless I was in that room. I caught myself on the bed rail and dumped my bag across the floor while machines kept marking Margot’s heartbeat. For one humiliating second, I was nothing but a body in the wrong place. Then she looked at me, and the moment stopped feeling like an audience waiting for me to prove I belonged.

There is a selfie from today, obviously. I took it, but I keep wondering why I still reach for the camera when I need to anchor myself. I am tired of my face being evidence of something marketable. Today, being useful mattered more than looking composed, and I am not sure I know how to value that without turning it into another performance.

I wrote that the case was open. I want that to mean Margot has more room to speak now, not that I have permission to let her go.