Crying Intern Got Served

My fiancé's newest protégé—fresh out of law school—was hell-bent on proving she was some kind of legal prodigy. So she volunteered to take the lead on what should've been an easy win. A slam dunk.

But the second opposing counsel started coming at her, she folded faster than a house of cards. The whole trial went sideways, and before I knew it, she was sobbing in my fiancé Tommy's arms.

"Oh, Tommy, it was horrible! That lawyer was so vicious! It was my first time in court—I was just so nervous!"

Thanks to her meltdown, our client—who should've walked—was now staring down a decade behind bars.

And what did Tommy and her mentor Dave do? They patted her on the head like she was a golden retriever who'd chewed a shoe. "Hey, it's okay, Amber. No one wins 'em all, right?"

"You're brilliant—you'll nail it next time."

I snapped.

"This isn't a damn game! This is a courtroom. We're here for the truth. For justice!"

"Because of your incompetence, an innocent man is going to prison. How do you live with yourself?"

Naturally, Amber burst into tears like I'd just run over her favorite teddy bear.

And instead of telling her to pull it together, Tommy and Dave twisted the whole thing. Made it my fault. I became the scapegoat.

I was forced to resign. Then came the threat of disbarment.

Broken and out of options, I was crossing the street when some idiot ran a red light. Everything went black.

And then—I woke up. Back to the day it all went wrong. Back in that courtroom. Ready to change the ending.

"I—I don't know…"

Amber was full-on crying in front of the judge now.

The plaintiff's lawyer smelled blood in the water and moved in for the kill, firing questions she couldn't begin to answer.

Her face went sheet-white. She looked over at Tommy in the gallery, pleading with her eyes.

Last time, this was where it all started—the domino that wrecked my life.

The client got ten years. His family came after our firm, demanding answers.

Tommy, smooth as ever, threw me under the bus to save his precious protégée.

I was forced out. Then sued into oblivion.

When I went to Dave—the man who mentored me through law school—he shut the door in my face. Laughed.

The night I died, all I could think was: This is Amber's fault. Why am I the one paying?

Now? She will.

The gallery was buzzing. I stood up, pushed Amber back into her seat, and took her place.

I took a deep breath and said, clear as day: