The contract was drawn up and waiting. All it needed was my signature.
I was stunned.
Hesitant.
At the time, I wasn’t ready to move to the middle of nowhere. I had a new girlfriend—too new to ask her to move with me to a tiny town. Long-distance would have been a guaranteed death sentence for us, so I’d turned down the offer. I’d accepted one at a different firm in the same city as my law school and slowly started building my caseload.
But, eventually, that relationship fell apart.
And when it did, I started re-evaluating everything.
I was living in a city I didn’t care about, working for a firm that treated me like a cleanup crew. Messy divorces. Unreasonable clients. Everyone wanted fast, dramatic results, and I was the one stuck sorting through the emotional wreckage that caused.
Divorce wasn’t the part of family law I liked, despite it playing a pivotal role in my decision to pursue law. But I was the new guy, so I kept my head down, took the cases, and played the game.
Until I realizedeverydivorce case was landing on my desk. Every mess, every nightmare, every guaranteed meltdown.
I’d gone to one of the partners, explaining I needed a breakfrom all the divorces and wanted to focus on something more neutral.
He’d just smiled at me and said I was ‘just good at those kinds of cases’.
I tried to grin and bear it, but when I finally put my foot down later, he’d just laughed at me—told me that I should be grateful for whatever work I got.
The conversation left a sour taste in my mouth that wouldn’t go away. It was like everything was tinged with the bitter regret of dying love. So, I knew without anyone else confirming it, that my attitude had caused my breakup. It was hard to believe in or fight for something when all you did was witness how horribly it could end on a daily basis.
I felt like I was living in a miserable holding pattern, wondering if I’d ever see the light at the end of the tunnel or if I should leave law altogether.
I couldn’t tell you exactly what made me do it, but something in me knew I needed a change, and so I called Charlie. I told him everything—the burnout, the firm, the endless cycle of divorce, the breakup.
I’d expected comfort, maybe some advice—or shit, even an ‘I told you so’. Instead, he didn’t even hesitate to offer me the job again.
“There is always a place for you here, my boy!” He’d exclaimed, so full of warmth and affection, it took my breath away.
And just like that, I was on the road.
Now I was driving through familiar streets, heading toward the old house that had once been my home-away-from-home. For the first time in months, my skin was buzzing with a renewed sense of purpose and energy that lightened my chest.
New beginnings were always exciting, but this didn’t feel new. It felt like coming back to something I’d lost.
Charlie had assured me most of the firm’s cases dealt with estateplanning and child support agreements. Divorce still came up now and then, but people out here didn’t have the money—or the patience—for long, drawn-out battles.
And I was fine with that.
I didn’t need big-city cases anymore. I just needed room to breathe.
Pulling up in front of the Shaffer home had me feeling like I was taking my first full breath in months. The air smelled sweeter and full of promise as I exited the car.
My steps were light but full of energy as I made my way up the white porch stairs and rang the front doorbell. Charlie would’ve told me to walk right in since I’d lived here during my internship, but after being away for so long, it felt like the polite thing to do.
I turned back to scan over the front lawn and street as I waited, marveling at how similar everything still looked. Small towns like this always seemed to be in their own time capsule, locked away from the ever changing world around them. And in this moment, I was incredibly grateful for that.
While Charlie had been more than fair with his work hours when I was interning, it hadn’t left much room to explore Westwend. My precious off-time had been spent taking advantage of the cool waters of the river rather than wandering the town, but, I never felt like I missed out. Ellie painted me pictures of her hometown through her stories that had almost convinced me I’d lived here my whole life too.
She’d met Charlie at theUniversity of Texas at Austinwhile he had been in law school, and they’d quickly married before moving back here. They’d inherited the house after her parents both passed away unexpectedly.
“It was so sad at the time,” She’d once told me, a wistful look in her eyes, “but it turned out to be a blessing. My kids grew up in the house I was raised in. It felt like we really built the life Charlie and I dreamed about.”
It was those stories—their love for this town and the homethey made—that made me agree to move to Westwend. It was the kind of life I craved for myself. The white picket fence, a home full of kids’ laughter, and a wife who doted on them, maybe even a dog.
