Page 127 of Keller

"Yes."

Leah reaches over and takes my hand. Her fingers are warm against mine.

"Then that's what you do. You stand by your work. You accept the outcome. And you give yourself permission to grieve what you lost."

I nod. I don't trust my voice.

We sit together as the light continues to fade. At some point, Leah refills her tea. Mine is still three-quarters full.

We don't talk about Keller anymore. She tells me about a disaster at a charity auction last week, a caterer who showed up with the wrong menu, and a client who threw a champagne glass at a wall. I listen. I even manage a small laugh.

When she finally stands to leave, the house has gone dim around us.

"Call me tomorrow," she says at the door. "And the day after that. And the day after that."

"I will."

She squeezes my hand. Holds it for a moment longer than necessary.

Then she's gone.

The house falls quiet.

I carry my tea to the deck, as if it's my anchor keeping me upright. I've barely drunk any, but I keep holding onto it.

The sky stretches wide above the rooftops, caught somewhere between gold and the first hints of deep blue. The air is cooler than it was before the storm, brushing against my bare arms, raising goosebumps along my skin.

I lean against the railing facing the house. It's almost exactly the same place I stood beside Keller that last night, wine glasses in hand.

I don't look at the spot where he was standing. I let it sit at the edge of my vision, a shape without weight. A space where someone used to be.

I didn’t choose this assignment. It landed on my desk because I’m good at what I do. I notice patterns other people overlook, because someone trusted me to follow the evidence wherever it led.

I didn’t choose to fall in love either.

Keller stepped into my life without warning. He pulled me out of the street. He looked at me across a ballroom full of strangers and shifted something in me before I had time to guard against it. None of it was strategic. None of it was calculated.

And yet this is where it ended.

An official inquiry will move forward now. Attorneys will be hired. Records will be requested. His family’s name will sit under scrutiny that may ultimately amount to nothing more than process and documentation.

I can’t undo that.

The compliance gaps were real. The anomalies were documented. The recommendation was justified. If the same file crossed my desk tomorrow, I would reach the same conclusion.

That truth doesn’t make this easier to sit with.

I keep turning it over in my head, searching for the version of events where I could have handled it differently. If I had told him sooner. If I had drawn a harder boundary. If I had stepped away before it mattered. I don’t know whether any of it would have changed the outcome, but the not knowing is its own kind of punishment.

The house is too quiet. His absence presses into the corners of it. I keep glancing at my phone, expecting a message, some interruption to this ending. The screen stays dark.

Maybe this is what choosing integrity costs.

Or maybe I convinced myself there were only two choices when there might have been another way.

The investigation will continue. With or without my happiness. With or without his forgiveness.

I told myself I could build a life that held both ambition and love if I was disciplined enough.