He Sacrificed My Career for Her—Then I Resigned Without Looking Back Chapter 09

On the last Friday before I left, the litigation group threw me a farewell dinner at the Italian place downstairs

from the firm.

Tara booked the private room. She said everyone was busy, and if we went too far, someone would get

pulled back by a client call halfway through.

It was such a lawyer thing to say. Even a goodbye had to account for cab times and emergency response.

When I got there, the room was already more than half full. Lucas had brought two bottles of wine, and Tara

had bought a small cake that said Good Luck, Ms. Kane.

She’d probably thought that sounded too formal, because she’d stuck a little cartoon sign next to it that said:

[Don’t forget us.]

I looked at that crooked little sign and smiled.

Tara’s eyes turned red at once. “Ms. Kane, don’t smile. I’ve been holding it together all day.”

“No shop talk tonight.”

“Then I really want to cry.”

Somebody beside her teased her. “Tara, she’s not retiring. You’re crying like she’s quitting law forever.”

Tara glared at him. “What do you know?” The whole room laughed.

Once I sat down, people took turns raising a glass to me.

One person said they’d definitely call me if they ever had a case in Southport. Someone else said they’d finally stop getting briefs sent back at midnight, and another said the litigation group’s overtime was going to

get a lot sloppier once I left.

It was loud and lively, but when it came down to the actual goodbyes, everyone held back. Lawyers saw plenty of endings. Clients changed, teams split up, cases closed, and even partners jumped ship.

Only Tara came and sat next to me with her glass, her voice muffled. “Ms. Kane, can I still ask you questions

after this?”

“Yes.”

“And when I write briefs, will you still yell at me?”

“Depends on the quality.”

She finally laughed, then quickly lowered her head to wipe her eyes.

At seven thirty, Graham still hadn’t come. He’d texted that afternoon to say he’d be there.

Tara glanced at the door a few times and finally asked quietly, “Want me to nudge Mr. Whitmore?”

I put a piece of bruschetta on her plate. “No.”

This dinner had never needed him to be complete.

At ten after eight, the door to the private room swung open, and everyone went quiet for a second. It was

Brooke.

She stood in the doorway holding a gift bag. Her eyes swept the table and landed on me. “Iris, sorry I’m late.”

The mood in the room turned strange all at once. Tara’s face showed it most plainly, and she almost

slammed her fork down on the table.

Lucas cleared his throat. “Ms. Wynn, this is a litigation group dinner.”

Brooke acted like she hadn’t understood. She walked in and set the gift bag next to me. “I know. Iris is leaving, and I wanted to come say goodbye.”

Her eyes were still red when she spoke.

After the Summitcrest seal sample incident, the risk management partner had made her write an

explanation. She’d kept her development seat, but she’d been pulled off major projects for three months.

People at the firm talked about it behind her back for days. Brooke must have been having a hard time. But

that wasn’t my problem.

I pushed the gift bag back to her. “I appreciate the thought, but I can’t take it.”

Brooke didn’t move. She said quietly, “Iris, I know you’re still angry at me. But I swear I never meant to take

anything that was yours.”

The room went completely silent. Tara let out a cold laugh, and Lucas stopped her with a look.

I wiped my hands with a napkin. “Ms. Wynn, now’s not the time for this.”

“But I’m afraid I won’t get another chance.” She was trembling. “Mr. Whitmore didn’t come tonight because

something happened with my mom. He wanted to come, but my mom’s in bad shape, and I don’t know what

to do on my own…”

I looked up at her.

Brooke’s tears spilled over. “Everybody thinks he plays favorites with me, but he’s just responsible. He helps

me because my family helped him a long time ago. He never said anything because he didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

For the first time, everyone in the room reacted.

Graham was keeping something from me. I’d known that for a long time. But once Brooke said it here, her reasons didn’t matter anymore. The fallout was obvious.

She’d cast herself as the one who’d been misunderstood, and she’d cast Graham as the man with a secret

burden he couldn’t talk about. That left me as the unforgiving, unreasonable woman who’d driven an old love

to the point of goodbye.

Tara finally couldn’t take it. “Ms. Wynn, couldn’t you say this in private? It’s Ms. Kane’s farewell dinner. Why

are you here crying?”

Brooke looked at her. “I only wanted to explain.”

Lucas set his glass down. “Explaining still needs the right time and place.”

Brooke bit her lip and looked at me, wounded.

I didn’t lose my temper. I picked up my phone and called Graham. It rang for a long time. No one answered.

The room was so quiet I could hear the air vents. I hung up, opened our chat, and texted him.

Me: [Brooke is at my farewell dinner. If you can deal with it in ten minutes, get her out of here.]

Once it sent, I set my phone face down on the table.

Brooke’s face went pale. “Iris, you didn’t have to do that.”

I looked at her. “Ten minutes.”

She was about to say something else when the door opened again. A server came in carrying a pot of hot

soup, saw the mood in the room, and froze.

Tara jumped up to take it from him. “Right here, thanks.”

The little bit of commotion was enough to cut Brooke off.

Nine minutes later, Graham arrived. He’d probably come straight from the hospital. His cuffs were a little wrinkled, his jacket was draped over his arm, and there was deep exhaustion in his eyes.

The moment Brooke saw him, she cried even harder. “Mr. Whitmore, I’m sorry. I only wanted to explain things

for you.”

Graham didn’t look at her. His gaze passed over everyone and landed on the cake in front of me that nobody

had cut yet. The cartoon sign had tipped sideways, and the frosting was starting to melt.

He said quietly, “Iris, I’m late.”

Nobody in the room answered.

I stood up and grabbed my purse. “You’re here now, and that’s what matters. Everyone’s pretty much done

eating, so I’m going to head out.”

Tara jumped up right after me. “Ms. Kane, let me walk you out.”

“No need. Finish your dinner.”

When I got to the door, Graham blocked my way. He looked like he had a lot to say, but in front of a whole

room of coworkers, all he managed was, “Let’s talk outside.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

His fingers tightened, and he finally lowered his voice. “Brooke’s mom is in bad shape. I couldn’t just walk

away.”

There it was again. It was urgent, he had no choice, and he couldn’t walk away.

Suddenly the warmth from that soup went cold in my stomach. “Graham, you don’t have to explain why

you’re late every time.”

His face changed slightly. I walked around him and out of the private room.

The hallway lighting was dim, and servers passed by carrying plates. Graham followed me out and called to

me at the corner. “Iris.”

I stopped.

He said, “Let me drive you home tonight.”

“I’ve already packed up my things, and I don’t have to go into the office tomorrow. I’ll send the handoff sheet

electronically.”

“You won’t even come in on your last day?”

“My system access shuts off at midnight tonight. There’s no point.”

Graham stared at me, and his eyes actually went a little red.

Someone like him never let embarrassment show in front of other people. But that night, standing in the narrow hallway of an Italian restaurant, he looked like he had nowhere to go for the first time.

“Then what about us?”

I took an envelope out of my purse. Inside was the breakup letter I’d printed that afternoon.

I’d planned to leave it on the dining table in the apartment we used to share. Now I didn’t have to make the

trip.

I held it out. “This is for you.”

Graham didn’t take it. His eyes landed on the envelope as if he’d already guessed what was inside. I put it in

his hand.

“Graham, we’re done.”

His fingers clenched, and the envelope creased down the middle. “I don’t agree.”

“Ending a relationship doesn’t need your approval.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that. I picked up my purse and walked out.

At the door, the night wind blew in, damp and a little cool. My phone buzzed. It was Graham.

Graham: [Iris, don’t end seven years with one letter.]

I didn’t answer.

A taxi pulled up. I got in and rolled the window up. Once the car had gone a little way, I opened my email and

sent the litigation group the goodbye message I’d written long before.

Last of all, I opened my chat with Graham and typed two words.

Me: [It’s over.]

Once it went through, I pressed the phone screen-down into my palm.