Page 14 of Archer's Awakening

A shark. I was a shark. I was some kind of apex predator.

And until Thea left, that had been enough. I had my pro bono clients. Usually abused spouses. Or spouses with abused children. Because that I couldn’t abide. Spouses—usually men, but not always—who abused others. Who beat up their wives, sexually abused their children. Just grotesque behavior. Hell, I’d helped a few of them wind up in jail. And I’d helped more than a few clients escape and start new lives.

Not as many as you could have. Because if someone asked you to list your accomplishments, you would say money first with the helping of others a distant second.

Jesus, so snarky.

Not wrong—but so damn snarky.

I rubbed my face with my hands. I wasn’t going to die tonight. Hell, I wasn’t going to die for another fifty years.

Grandpa Chamberlain had a bad ticker.

Sure, but all my other relatives lived nice long lives.

Your point?

ThatifI died tonight, I wouldn’t be remembered for the people I’d helped. Most of that had been done in the shadows—where no one would ever know. No, I’d be remembered as one of the best—if not the best—divorce attorneys in Vancouver. That had always been enough. That had always been my high-water mark. The pinnacle of my professional success.

What about Muriel and her three children?

A success story. Her husband had threatened her repeatedly if she tried to leave him. The most dangerous time for a woman and her children was after she’d decided to leave and thereafter. Some men wouldn’t let go. Some men believed they owned their wives.

Muriel’s husband had believed that. He’s even killed their cat to prove his point. Well, he’d told the kids that the cat had run away while assuring Muriel thefucking creaturewould never be heard from again.

She’d known what that meant. Their beloved pet hadn’t been rehomed or taken to a shelter. No, she was dead. As Muriel would be if she left.

But she’d seen the writing on the wall. Had believed she’d die if she stayed. And the children likely would as well.

She’d reached out to a shelter.

Who had called me.

I’d been there every step of the way.

Muriel and the kids now lived in Brockville, back east in Ontario. With a friend’s great aunt. No way for her to be traced. And I’d worked on getting her new paperwork—a new identity.

I’d had the pleasure of serving the divorce papers on the bastard myself.

As predicted, he’d taken a swing at me.

That had landed him in jail

And secured a permanent injunction against ever seeing the kids again. Muriel had quietly documented the abuse—the evidence I was happily willing to file with the court.

She was safe. Well, as safe as she could be. The entire family was in counseling, but they had a fresh start.

And I ran regular checks on the ex—planning to make his life miserable if he tried any other shit. I couldn’t protect all the women out there from him…but I could keep an eye on him.

See? I did good.

Tonight, though? That victory felt hollow.

Because there were too few Muriels and far more clients who paid big bucks to be extracted from marriages they were merely unhappy in. Nothing wrong with that. Except I, for all my experience, felt marriage should be taken more seriously. So many people entered it without considering ramifications. Added kids and then treated them like ornaments.

Now, reflecting on those rich clients, I felt like I’d somehow had everything backward in this life. That I didn’t know what was really important.

That I hadn’t done enough.

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