The final evening of Lila’s trial week felt like the last page of a book I wasn’t sure I wanted to finish. We sat around the dining table for what would be our last dinner together. The staff had prepared a simple but elegant meal, roasted chicken, vegetables, fresh bread, and a bottle of wine that Damien opened but barely touched.
Lila looked calm and composed in a soft cream blouse, her hair neatly pulled back. She smiled at both of us as she raised her glass of water.
“I just want to say thank you,” she began, her voice warm but not overly emotional. “This week has meant more to me than you can imagine. Elena, you’ve been so kind and open with me. Talking to you about your mother and your father… it reminded me how much I missed having real, honest conversations. You’re a remarkable
