In my head, I see a woman on a burning pyre speaking to someone she loves in her mind. This is about accusation. Performance. Expectations. The names we get called. The labels we endure. And what I hope survives anyway.

Sacred is the page,

even though it tears

No longer in their cage,

your words hard to bear

Briefly, I disengage,

I’ve nearly lost my air

.

Wobble only while backstage,

but must stay composed out there

They send me this today?

love, of course, they would, that’s fair.

I smile past all the rage,

even death gets scared

.

This pyre, this wooden stage

Lies they told, right hand raised, they swear

This slithering fire and licking rage,

silenced yet stoked mid-air

They wanted me enraged,

but stuck inside their lair

.

We dreamt of better ways,

love, we’re broken but still there

“Time to turn the page,”

You say this like a prayer

“The war I don’t want to wage,”

I say, soft and threadbare

.

“How do I continue in this way?”

I ask the embers in the air

Steal a breath in small hallways,

Your words a map, I prepare

‘Til no longer in my chains

Can we leave this warfare?

.

But your face fades in a haze,

I’m left to my despair

I look back down at my chains,

And remember you’re not there

I long for those old days,

your breath on my neck, hands in my hair

.

They set the fire now ablaze,

Flames come quick, they’re nearly there

Accusers so enraged

I’m close to death, love, I’m almost there

.

I stay composed up on this stage,

I don’t give in, love, I don’t dare

Your sacred words. That page.

Inside me and everywhere

.

The smoke and fire, they both raise,

and through them, I just glare

No longer bound to earth’s short days,

It’s really now they should be scared

.

Let them burn all the sage,

love, I’ll meet you at our demon lair

To hear you say my name,

to burn is like an answered prayer.

The inspo:

The tag and that first line is 🔥🔥🔥:

Also, definitely go check out and sub and !

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

I’ve been thinking a lot about my series, After the Verdict, and decided I no longer want to trust the reader! lol. J/K.

I trust y’all, but I definitely do want to do a more behind-the-scenes for this series because it’s jam-packed with so much!

When we open in Chapter 1, we dive right into the cross-examination of Gloria Simpson, the Plaintiff who has sued Bishop Financial, her former employer.

The setting is in Federal Court, and while not explicitly stated, the cause of action brought against Bishop Financial would be via Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. The allegation being that Gloria was illegally discriminated against and subjected to a hostile work environment by her employer, through her supervisor, on the basis of her sex.

But did you know “sex” was never originally in the Title VII statute?

History major and labor and employment lawyer here, so let’s take a small stroll down memory lane to learn more about Title VII.

On Thursday, July 2^nd, 1964, in a nationally broadcast event, President Lyndon B. Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (the “Act”) into law, which would take effect immediately. Consisting of eleven titles, the Act aimed to guarantee equal treatment under the law for all Americans in various sectors of public life.^[1] President Johnson was fulfilling the objectives of the late President John F. Kennedy, who “called for civil rights legislation . . .[in which] its stated purpose was ‘to promote the general welfare by eliminating discrimination based on race, color, religion, or national origin in . . . public accommodations . . .’” Heart of Atlanta Motel, Inc. v. United States, 379 U.S. 241, 245 (1964) citing H.R.Doc.No. 124, 88th Cong., 1st Sess., at 14. (emphasis added).^[2]

Title VII of the Act, specifically, laid the foundation for fair employment practices across the country.

Originally absent from the 1963 draft of Title VII, the word “sex” was a late addition to the bill by Virginia Democratic Representative Howard Smith on February 8, 1964.^[3]

“On some accounts, the congressman may have wanted (or at least was indifferent to the possibility of) broad language with wide-ranging effect—not necessarily because he was interested in rooting out sex discrimination in all its forms, but because he may have hoped to scuttle the whole Civil Rights Act and thought that adding language covering sex discrimination would serve as a “poison pill.” Bostock v. Clayton Cnty., Georgia, 590 U.S. 644, 678–79 (2020) citing C. Whalen & B. Whalen, The Longest Debate: A Legislative History of the 1964 Civil Rights Act 115–118 (1985).

Whatever his reasons, “[T]hanks to the broad language Representative Smith introduced, many, maybe most, applications of Title VII’s sex provision were ‘unanticipated’ at the time of the law’s adoption . . . Over time, though, the breadth of the statutory language proved too difficult to deny.” Bostock, 590 U.S. at 679. (emphasis added).^[4]

Ultimately, the word remained, and the pivotal text from Title VII reads as we see it today, and as follows:

It shall be an unlawful employment practice for an employer -

(1) to fail or refuse to hire or to discharge any individual, or otherwise to discriminate against any individual with respect to his compensation, terms, conditions, or privileges of employment, because of such individual’s race, color, religion, sex, or national origin.

§ 2000e–2(a)(1)(emphasis added).

In the lawyer world, we typically look at the “plain meaning” of the language when it comes to statutory interpretation (I have thoughts on this for another post!). However, when us lawyers need a little help with the interpretation, we look at the comments made in Congress. However, since the word “sex” was a last-minute addition with very little or basically no discussion on the floor, the courts didn’t have a lot to go on when it came to how to handle Title VII “sex” discrimination cases.

As a result, the Courts have spent the last 50 years trying to figure out what those three letters “s-e-x” mean within the statute, and they still are! (I have a whole post on this and where I think things are going, but we’ll continue to talk about this, don’t worry!)

As for Gloria Simpson, her fact pattern is loosely based on the allegations brought by real-life plaintiff, Mechelle Vinson, against her employer, Meritor Savings Bank.

Meritor Savings Bank v. Vinson, 477 U.S. 57 (1986), is a United States Supreme Court decision that was decided in 1986. Yes, do the math, this decision comes over 20 years after Title VII’s enactment, but who’s counting?

Mechelle Vinson’s story is horrifying. She was 22 when her supervisor, Sidney Taylor, began sexually assaulting her for years. He followed her into the bathroom, he raped her, and stalked her for over 4 years. And when she finally came forward, the bank argued she had never explicitly said no, and anyway, she hadn’t lost any money or been demoted, so no harm.

The Supreme Court finally said: No. A hostile work environment, even without financial loss, violates Title VII. However, an employer is only liable if they knew about the conduct and did nothing to prevent it. And if the Plaintiff knew the policies and still failed to file a complaint, well then the employer can bring that up as an affirmative defense (Ellerth/Faragher Affirmative defense). An employer’s lack of notice is relevant to liability. It was then, and still is.

With Gloria Simpson, I tried to model the facts loosely off Vinson’s case: Supervisor. Power. Acquiescence. No formal complaint during her employment, and Gloria doesn’t get fired; she resigns. And then we see the system looking at Gloria’s choices rather than Hillman’s, and using Anna to do it.

Anna’s cross-examination in Chapter 1 is built on the same logic the Court used in Vinson to limit liability, although Vinson never actually made it to jury trial.

As for Anna, she is a labor and employment defense attorney in Dallas who is very good at her job. But then we see the system she has spent her career serving turn against her.

What happens to women who are fluent in the rules and discover the rules don't protect them?

What are the ripple effects of a single moment that can't be proved?

And we see three generations of women in a law firm trying to do better for the ones who come after them.

Gloria, Anna, Vanessa, Sheila, Norma, and even little Emma… they are all fictional, but the systems they’re navigating are not.

If you haven’t checked out Chapter 1 of After the Verdict, check it out here:

Have Any Questions About the Series? Anything You Want to Know? Ask Away!

Leave a comment

Footnotes and other sources:

^[1] Gillian Thomas, Because of Sex: One Law, Ten Cases, and Fifty Years That Changed American Women’s Lives at Work (2016).

^[2] This case involved a motel that had a practice of refusing to rent rooms to African Americans. Atlanta Motel, at 351.

^[3] Gillian Thomas, Because of Sex: One Law, Ten Cases, and Fifty Years That Changed American Women’s Lives at Work (2016).

^[4] Justice Gorsuch provides the following examples: “In 1971, this Court held that treating women with children differently from men with children violated Title VII. Phillips, 400 U.S. at 544, 91 S.Ct. 496. And by the late 1970s, courts began to recognize that sexual harassment can sometimes amount to sex discrimination. See e.g., Barnes v. Costle, 561 F.2d 983, 990 (CADC 1977). While to the modern eye each of these examples may seem ‘plainly [to] constitut[e] discrimination because of biological sex,’ post, at 1774 - 1775 (ALITO, J., dissenting), all were hotly contested for years following Title VII’s enactment.” Bostock, 590 U.S. at 679.

One Last Thing: Disclaimer

This post isn’t legal advice.
Yes, I’m a lawyer. No, I’m not your lawyer (unless we’ve signed papers and I’m charging you my hourly rate). This is for informational, educational, and entertainment purposes only. If you’re dealing with workplace discrimination or retaliation, talk to a qualified employment attorney in your jurisdiction.
Also, stay subscribed because this stuff matters. But seriously—don’t treat this as legal advice. Love you.

Copyright © 2026 Rebecca Hayward. All rights reserved.
This original content is protected under U.S. copyright law.
Reproduction, redistribution, or adaptation without express written permission is prohibited. Sharing with proper attribution is welcome; lifting ideas without credit is not.

If you need to start from the beginning, Chapter 1 is here:

Subscribe now

Chapter 7: What Happens in Our Absence

“Do you ever think back on how it’s a feat that we even became lawyers?” Vanessa asks Sheila Watkins.

“Shit,” Sheila looks up from pecking at her phone and looks directly at Vanessa from across the white clothed table at the Country Club, blinking quickly. “Did you order wine and drink a bottle before I got here? Where is this coming from, Vanessa?”

“Truly.” Vanessa presses on, “Do you ever look back at the fucking miracle it is that you even became a lawyer, much less the Watkins of Luis and Watkins?”

“Are you hitting on me?” Sheila laughs as she waves down a server.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you told me that you had to quit law school in your second year because one of your professors requested that you sleep with him for a passing grade. You turned him down. He failed you. You quit law school, Sheila.”

“I’ll take a water and a coffee,” Sheila says to the young server who has just arrived.

“I’ll have the same,” Vanessa adds, not breaking eye contact with Sheila.

The server walks off.

Sheila turns somber, “It’s a shame it’s too early for wine,” she half-jokes, but continues. “Yeah, I turned him down only because I saw what saying ‘yes’ did to other women he preyed on. He still failed them. They still dropped out even if he didn’t. Not only did he kill dreams, careers, and a chance to be independent, but some of these women never recovered. Drugs. Suicide…” Sheila trails off.

Their drinks arrive. Sheila begins to doctor her coffee. Vanessa sips her water.

“So I unenrolled,” Sheila says, her eyes watering at the memory, “and boy, was my mother pissed. She didn’t understand. I needed to move back home, find work, and pay her rent because she needed it too. I was another mouth to feed.” She pauses, remembering, “God, I was a shell of myself, Vanessa. So depressed, so defeated. After a year, I applied to St. Michael’s, an arguably better law school that was local. I was accepted but had to start all over again. At the time, I was so grateful to even be admitted, I did so happily.” Sheila sounds like she barely believes her own story of accomplishment, and Vanessa can tell it has been a minute since Sheila has relived this.

“And Sheila, I know you had it rough in firm life, too.” Vanessa prods.

“Oh gosh!” Sheila exclaims, where do I begin? “How about the older female attorney calling my boss at the time to complain about me. Why do we women insist on competing with each other like that?”

“I mean, I agree, but I’m not talking about that, Sheila,” Vanessa says more seriously.

Sheila looks up at Vanessa, “Why are you asking all this, Vanessa? You know these stories.”

“Yeah, but I want you to recall the one.”

“Oh, that one.” Sheila pauses but acquiesces to her friend, “Okay, because I assume you’re leading me to a point, counselor.” She narrows her eyes, but goes on, “I was in a meeting with the CEO of one of the companies we represent. I was alone with him in his office. This was not uncommon. As the meeting was ending, and as I was leaving, he moved to what I then assumed was to open the office door ahead of me. Instead, he pushed me against the door, my face against the heavy wood. He pushed his body against me and groped me over my clothes. I felt what I presumed to be his erect penis against me. I pushed him away by pushing from the door, and I was able to leave. At the time, I was so young that I never told anyone. I needed the job. I was afraid I’d be blackballed. I wondered what I did to invite it. Blamed myself for a long time.” Sheila sips her coffee, “I even continued to represent him, but made sure I was never alone with him. I was scared and pissed off at the same time,” Sheila continues, “not only did I win that case for him, but he had the audacity to complain to my boss that I wasn’t friendly and was too much ‘all business.’ I got admonished for not being friendly to the client who assaulted me.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “I eventually explained it, but it was a different time back then.”

“It was a different time back then, indeed.” Vanessa agrees, “That was not okay, and this is not okay, Sheila. Just because we’ve been through worse– It’s never been here. Not here.” Vanessa is pacing in her mind again. “Sheldon is oblivious that he’s done anything wrong. What the fuck are we doing, Sheila?”

“I’m not saying this is okay, Vanessa,” Sheila responds, her voice exhausted, defeated, “I have to take it to the full board. I’ll do that. He will know it’s not okay. But I also have to speak their language. These guys speak in numbers and money. There’s no question we’re part of the system, but the only way we change the system is by speaking its language.”

Vanessa continues, “You know, I actually want to be a Shareholder with you. I’ve always thought we could change things. But right now, after Sheldon, I have concerns that the fundamental values that I at least try to cling to are misaligned here.”

Sheila nods, “I know. But what happens in our absence?”

Both women sit in silence for a moment, letting the question settle.

Sheila continues, “I can’t guarantee that anything else will get done without something external. He’s got his supporters. You know what I know: there is no documentation of him ever doing this before. No history, pattern. Even now, what do we have? What can we prove, even with Anna?”

“This is not okay, Sheila.” Vanessa has tears in her eyes, “We were supposed to do better for them,” her lips quivering.

“It’s not fucking okay,” Sheila agrees, her eyes also glistening.

They sit in silence again. Thinking. Calculating.

“How badly will Anna get fucked for bringing this?” Vanessa asks.

“You know that’s illegal.”

“Ha! Ha!” Vanessa drags the two syllables out, but turns serious again.

“This was triggering for me, Sheila. I haven’t been able to sleep well since Anna told me. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Sheila looks at her.

“I’m just letting you know, in case it comes up for you too,” Vanessa says, “I took the daytime flight for negotiations on the Lubbock merger this week, Sheila… Normally, I take the latest flight so I can pick up the girls from school and be home. But I don’t know…” Vanessa trails off. “Because fuck, Sheila, if this happens in our own house… I don’t know. It sounds irrational and stupid. I’ve been crying a lot, too. It’s really pissing me off, actually.” Vanessa jokes, wiping tears from her eyes. Her tone switches to resolve, “And it makes me even more pissed at Sheldon.”

“I’m sorry, Vanessa. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m just telling you, as a friend, not a lawyer, or employee, or law partner. In case this brings feelings up for you, too. But I’m also telling you that this shit festers. We fucking advise on this shit.”

“We’ll get a corporate coach to come in,” Sheila responds, almost hopeful, “make it part of a revamp.”

Vanessa half-scoffs, lets a tear roll down her cheek.

“But, you’re right,” Sheila says, “I know what the current board make-up will do: ‘We’re thinking of families and livelihoods, not just Sheldon’s,’ they will say. ‘Even an amicable departure would be chaos. Clients would follow him; we’d have to let go of attorneys and staff. Over what, unsustained allegations?’ They will ask me.” Sheila pauses a moment, processing in real time, “It makes me wonder when I switched to the dark side, myself.”

“You mean, no one will ever know...” Vanessa says, shaking her head, “How am I supposed to bring young attorneys in here, Sheila?”

Sheila grabs Vanessa’s hand across the table and looks at her, “You hold on a little longer so we can make some changes. But it just takes time for the old guard on the board to move on, to see the good this can bring to their own legacy. I need your help with the governance of this place. I can’t do this alone, Vanessa.” Sheila knows she’s putting more pressure on Vanessa than is fair.

Vanessa’s phone dings, and Vanessa picks it up.

“Fuck. I’ve been so distracted, I gotta run to this 1 o’clock, Sheila.” Vanessa lets go of Sheila’s hand and gets up quickly, grabbing her bag. “Let me know what I can do. You’ll be the one in the boardroom, though, not me.” Vanessa turns and walks out.

Sheila waves down the server and gives the sign for the check. She grabs a tissue from her purse, dabs her eyes, and re-applies her lipstick.

The server brings the check, and Sheila signs.

She sits for a moment and thinks about the conversation.

I was a shell of myself, she thinks, with heaviness in her eyes.

She then pulls out her iPad, starts typing, and sends an email to the board.

Stay tuned for Chapter 8…

Leave a comment

Credibility & Chaos is a reader-supported publication. My work is free because dissecting systems shouldn’t hide behind a paywall. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free subscriber. I’ll take your money for coffee, tho.

Subscribe now

One Last Thing: Disclaimer

This work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or circumstances is purely coincidental. This post isn’t legal advice. Yes, I’m a lawyer. No, I’m not your lawyer (unless we’ve signed papers and I’m charging you my hourly rate). If you’re dealing with workplace discrimination or retaliation, talk to a qualified employment attorney in your jurisdiction. Also, stay subscribed because this stuff matters. But seriously—don’t treat this as legal advice. Love you.

Copyright © 2026 Rebecca Hayward. All rights reserved.
This original content is protected under U.S. copyright law. Reproduction, redistribution, or adaptation without express written permission is prohibited. Sharing with proper attribution is welcome; lifting ideas without credit is not.

If you need to catch up, Chapter 5 is here:

If you need to start from the beginning, Chapter 1 is here:

Chapter 6: Nothing New

“Fuck.” Vanessa says. “What the fuck is wrong with him?” She looks down, as if the rug directly in front of her displays a deconstructed layout of her past 13 years with the firm, Luis & Watkins.

Vanessa is in her living room. On her couch sits Anna, holding her glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Anna is taking a full gulp after relaying what happened at the Leaning Pear. She lets the wine coat her tongue, her throat, and warm her stomach, letting it relax her. She breathes deeply in and, upon exhaling, Anna realizes she’s been holding tension for weeks.

Vanessa looks down again and begins to pace the room, thinking aloud, “If this were anyone else in the firm, they’d be gone,” she says.

Anna watches, eyes wide, sipping her wine. She wonders if she should have come to Vanessa sooner… after this happened. In her career, even.

“The firm has actually been pretty decent about that,” Vanessa continues, “we’ve gotten rid of creeps before. Fast.”

Vanessa pauses and lets herself wander down a memory, “God, I remember this one guy– Trey. He was an N-E-P., and yeah, the ‘Partner’ title is nice, but truly, the power is at the Shareholder level. But anyway,” she waves away the small digression, “regardless, the Monica Lewinsky happened with Trey.”

“The Monica Lewinsky? Who’s Monica Lewinsky?” Anna asks, sipping her wine.

“Monica Lewinsky? Damn. I forget you were born in 2000 or something, Anna, which is a compliment, by the way. But really, I’m talking about power here. Any young baby associate is going to see ‘Partner’ in the title and either see power or someone moving into power. How do you say ‘no’ to someone with significant power over you? How does Monica Lewinsky, who was a young twenty-something intern at the White House, by the way, say ‘no’ to the most powerful man in the world– at the time Bill Clinton?” Vanessa explains. “You don’t! And well, Trey– Trey used that to his full advantage.” Vanessa rolls her eyes in disgust and goes on.

Anna listens intently, surprise and recognition cementing around her spine.

“So anyway,” Vanessa goes on, “Trey was telling two young female associates, separately, that the Shareholders and other partners wanted them fired, and that he was the only one who was speaking up for them, wanting them to succeed. He told them that he was the only one in their corner. And these poor things believed him! He was isolating them. Grooming them!” Vanessa says, exasperated. “And one day, these associates started talking to each other: ‘Hey Bev, Trey told me this, and I feel awful,’ – not even like, ‘hey, is this happening to you?’ It was, ‘Hey Bev, I feel so awful that everyone thinks I’m a terrible attorney around here and wants me to go!’” Vanessa says this last part, flabbergasted. “And Bev is like, ‘Erin, girl, he’s telling me the same thing!’ At that point, they both came to me. Thank God! I brought it to the Shareholders. The firm conducted a brief internal investigation, and he was out by the end of the week.” Vanessa says this, like she’s highlighting a piece of evidence. “We also do a much better job now, and have a formal policy with our new associates regarding their management and mentorship.”

The wine hitting Anna, she speaks freely, “That last part sounds like a canned PR response, Vanessa.”

Vanessa laughs, nods, and plays along, “I concede that our own lack of internal checks allowed Trey to manipulate the system.”

“Truly a mind fuck…,” Anna says out loud without realizing it.

Vanessa refills Anna’s wine and her own from the bottle on the coffee table.

“I could get really bleak and say this is just another fucking Tuesday with the daily gaslighting that goes on in the world. And fucking Trey– well, he’s just another product of the world, isn’t he? And the systems we exist in?” Vanessa says, tired.

“Damn, Vanessa,” Anna says, eyes swimming.

Vanessa pauses, again looking down at the timeline she’s recreating in her mind. She takes a sip of her wine.

“God, we know how the fucking world is. Fuck, this is what we practice and advise on,” Vanessa says again. “We’ve never tolerated this shit here, though.” She doesn’t sound defensive. Just recalling the evidence.

Anna can see the gears in Vanessa’s mind processing, clicking, and unclicking.

“Did I ever tell you about the very first time I ever argued in the 5th Circuit Court of Appeals?” Vanessa asks Anna, but speaks to the air around her, eyes wandering down a memory.

Anna shakes her head no, which Vanessa doesn’t see.

“It was about 13 years ago, I was in my young 30s, and definitely still looking like a baby. I had just started with the firm here, representing one of our clients, Wilder Inc. It was an interesting independent contractor situation, and since the Plaintiff was working for both our client and another company, Mason & Co,-- he sued us both when he was let go… naturally.” Vanessa chuckles at her own joke, and goes on, “As a result, I’m co-defense with the attorney who represents Mason & Co. Anyway, so there I am, coming up to the desk where we both will be sitting, waiting our turn for oral argument. I put my bag down, I go to shake his hand and say ‘good morning.’ Well, the first thing this guy does is look me up and down, grab my hand– doesn’t shake it, just grabs it to pull me closer– and tells me, so that only I can hear, that I look like I’m going to be his next ex-wife. And the look in his eye…” Vanessa trails off. “Logically, I know it’s very unlikely I’m going to be physically assaulted in a courtroom, but truly, I was looking at the exits and considering my physical safety. I also realized for the first time that the bailiffs are only there when the judges are present.” Vanessa scoffs at this last part.

“Fuck, Vanessa. And you were about to do your oral argument?” Anna says, eyes wide. Sipping more of her wine.

“Yeah,” Vanessa says, “like I wasn’t nervous enough as it was with the oral argument…” she trails off, remembering, “but damn, I still did a good job. We were on the same side technically, but I felt like I kicked his ass because I didn’t waver. But, fuck– it truly rattled me for weeks. And sure, he was hitting on me, but also it felt like his true goal was to purposefully punch me in the gut to throw me off my game.”

“Or is that giving them too much credit?” Anna responds, trailing off in her own mind, “There was one time, I went in to shake hands with a mediator, where I’m representing one of our clients, by the way. It’s not like I was at H-E-B. But when I went to shake his hand, he pulled me in and kissed me on the forehead. It was fucking unnerving, and I stepped back so fast, truly in shock, but it’s like he didn’t notice or think anything was even wrong with my reaction. It makes me wonder how often he must do that.”

“I swear. I’m surprised, and then never surprised, but never underestimate them…” Vanessa says, exhausted. “And as much as I want to be all feminist and yell, ‘They’ll never take our freedom!’ with blue war paint on my face, it really just makes me feel like shit most of the time.”

“Yeah. At least weekly, I’m assumed to be the paralegal and Jordan the attorney,” Anna responds. “It doesn’t give me pleasure to correct them. It’s just truly exhausting.”

“And this job is already hard enough,” Vanessa adds, “Security escorts after certain hearings. The hate emails. The media scrutiny. The sheer emotional weight of the subject matter of these cases is something that we don’t appreciate enough. I’m still trying to figure out a decent road through the ‘Chief Denis’ situation that lets me sleep at night. Truly, this job is hard enough.” Vanessa pauses, still processing, “But what’s really throwing me right now is that this happened here. I get shit happens out in the wild, but this doesn’t happen here.”

Anna sips her wine, eyes looking at a fixed position on the floor before her.

Vanessa goes back to pacing.

“And this is Sheldon fucking Luis,” Vanessa says, shaking her head. “The board won’t let him go down without a fight.”

A silence rests between the two, letting the reality set in. Both women internally calculating next steps.

Vanessa walks to the coffee table, sits, and looks directly at Anna.

Vanessa exhales slowly, choosing every word. “I need you to listen to me for a second. I’m not trying to discourage you. I just need your eyes open before we go into this arena, Anna.”

Anna nods, though her breath has gone short.

“This will go to the Shareholders, and I’ll do my part. The level of shock I’m currently feeling, the disappointment– but truly, it’s sheer shock. I’m speechless, and I’m never speechless.” Vanessa jokes.

“Vanessa, I hate to break it to you, but you’re still not speechless,” Anna laughs loosely. “I’ve barely said a word.”

Vanessa smiles, but continues, “All that will happen will be internal. And honestly, leaving it internal, I don’t know if anything will happen because it’s Sheldon.”

Anna can see that Vanessa has slipped into work mode.

Vanessa goes on, “Here’s what they’ll say: No one saw anything. You acted ‘normal’ afterward (Vanessa uses air quotes). You took a selfie with him that is still on your IG. You accepted a ride back to the office in his car— albeit with Norma and Jordan. And— it’s been two weeks. I know you have contemporaneous statements you’ve made personally in your email, but you’re a labor and employment defense attorney, Anna. You’ll be asked why you didn’t formally bring this to the firm’s attention sooner. That’s not a judgment. It’s a trauma response. We know that. Hell, you’ve seen expert reports that say that. You know you did nothing wrong here, but it will still come up.”

Vanessa pauses. Softer now, knowing she’s placing more pressure on Anna than is fair, “Filing an internal complaint is one thing. If you want to take this further, if you want to hit them where it hurts, that has to come from you directly. And if you end up in litigation a year from now, or two years from now, you also know what that looks like. It’s a long and thankless road, but nothing changes unless they actually feel it.” Vanessa pauses and presses on, “I think of the women who went through so much before Title VII, and then those trying to build on it.” Vanessa stops, understanding the weight of her words, and looks up at Anna, “Otherwise, this gets swept up and buried.”

Vanessa pauses again, still looking at Anna, “Maybe you can call Frank Richards? You really should get a lawyer, Anna. Hell, I know it would scare the hell out of the board. Get someone from the outside in here. Otherwise, it’s harder when it stays internal. You know this.”

Anna winces.

God. Frank. No.

The name Gloria Simpson rises hot and immediate.

Anna grips her knee and sips her wine to cover the reflex.

“Mamma?” a soft voice from the hall is heard, and the sleepy face of 8-year-old Emma peers around the corner of the dark hall.

“Hi, Sweet Pea,” Vanessa coos. “What’s up, baby?” Vanessa continues, switching her tone into a warm, comforting sound of a soft blanket.

Anna watches as Vanessa’s eyes let down her guard completely.

“I was just going to get water and heard voices,” Emma says sleepily. She wanders lazily to Vanessa and wraps her arms around her mother, resting her head on Vanessa’s shoulders.

Vanessa smiles, holding Emma, as her tall, lanky daughter nestles into her. “Always my baby,” Vanessa whispers warmly, kissing Emma on the cheek, while simultaneously moving her dark hair away from her face, wrapping it around her ear.

“I love you, baby,” Vanessa says to Emma, sweetly.

“I love you more, mamma,” Emma responds out of ritual. Her eyes closed, drifting off again against her mother.

Anna remembers her own mother then.

“I’ll let y’all get some sleep,” Anna says quietly, getting up from the couch, placing her empty wine glass down gently. “I can see myself out, stay with her. Y’all are so sweet.” Anna whispers more quietly as she sees that Emma has fully fallen asleep.

Vanessa looks up from watching her daughter’s face and looks at Anna with the same warm expression, “I’ll call you tomorrow. Try to get some rest as well. It was good you came.”

The click of the front door closes. Vanessa slowly wakes Emma, and walks her sleepily back to her bed, tucks her in, and kisses her warm cheek. Vanessa wonders how much Emma overheard, remembering her own youth.

Vanessa closes the bedroom door and walks to the kitchen.

Vanessa picks up her phone, texts Sheila Watkins, “We’ve got to talk when you get a chance.”

Check out Chapter 7 here:

Leave a comment

Credibility & Chaos is a reader-supported publication. My work is free because dissecting systems and power shouldn’t hide behind a paywall. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a subscriber.

Subscribe now

One Last Thing: Disclaimer

This work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or circumstances is purely coincidental. This post isn’t legal advice. Yes, I’m a lawyer. No, I’m not your lawyer (unless we’ve signed papers and I’m charging you my hourly rate). If you’re dealing with workplace discrimination or retaliation, talk to a qualified employment attorney in your jurisdiction. Also, stay subscribed because this stuff matters. But seriously—don’t treat this as legal advice. Love you.

Copyright © 2026 Rebecca Hayward. All rights reserved.
This original content is protected under U.S. copyright law. Reproduction, redistribution, or adaptation without express written permission is prohibited. Sharing with proper attribution is welcome; lifting ideas without credit is not.

If you need to start from the beginning, Chapter 1 is here:

Chapter 5: What Exactly Can You Prove?

“So there I was, sitting in the wrong car!” Cindy finishes her story and lands the punchline. She was traveling in Florida, had a rental, but ended up in the wrong vehicle quite confidently.

Vince chimes in, “Give her enough time, though, and Cindy would have convinced the car it was in the wrong!”

The table laughs around them. Anna smiles and laughs on cue, but her eyes look past Cindy.

The conversations continue.

“You okay?” Jordan asks her later, as they walk out, leaving dinner. “You seemed… I dunno. A little off. Not quiet, but quiet if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, just tired.” Anna responds quickly, “I guess this whole week took a toll. I mean, we were just in trial mode, and I was crossing Gloria only yesterday. The adrenaline crash is coming, is all.”

“Yeah, okay,” he responds sarcastically, “that’s a logical explanation.” Jordan uses air quotes, pauses, and continues more seriously, “Hey, listen, I know the Gloria Simpson case was tough. And well— don’t think I didn’t notice the viper den we were in just now… The dismissive praise. Vince, Cindy, even Sheldon… And you handle yourself well. You always do. But you’re not a machine, or a gun, Anna.”

“Wow. Okay, Yoda.” Anna mirrors his earlier sarcasm. She looks down, eyes glistening, “But seriously, thanks.”

Jordan laughs, “I know they pay me to work with you, but I’m still a friend. And really, this is more Samwise of me.”

Anna walks into the front door of her apartment, kicks her shoes off, and places her bag on the kitchen counter.

She sits on her couch in the living room, lies back against it, and stares at the ceiling.

She sits back up and picks up her phone to call her mother.

Anna thumbs through the contact list.

Constance Murphy’s contact and a picture of Anna and her mother at her law school graduation glows back up at her.

She places her phone back down next to her on the couch.

She picks up her phone again. Anna scrolls to Jordan Reyna, and clicks on his contact. His LinkedIn profile picture glows back up at her.

She taps back to the main contacts menu and scrolls to Vanessa Chen.

Anna places her phone back down again.

An hour goes by. Anna gets up and starts the routine of the evening. She puts on her pajamas. She washes her face, and she brushes her teeth. She grabs a glass of water to place by the bed.

Anna sets ambient sounds to distant thunderstorms, and she crawls into bed.

With the blankets around her, she lies on her back and stares at the ceiling.

After a few minutes, she turns to her side and lies in the fetal position.

As if her body was waiting to hug itself, Anna suddenly starts to cry. She begins to sob loudly into her knees. Tears stream down the side of her face, landing on the sheets. As warm tears release, the coolness from the wet sheets touches her cheek, and the sensation seems to focus her.

She can’t explain how she feels. Not one emotion, but too many of them to contain.

Angry. Violated. Stupid. Ashamed. Guilty. Weak.

She wonders if she’s overreacting.

Was it anything at all? she asks herself.

Should I say anything at all, because what exactly even happened? Think, Anna, she tells herself.

She rolls onto her back; her crying has subsided for now.

She plays out in her mind what a meeting with HR would look like. Anna imagines herself sitting at a desk with a person she does not know, and very likely named Diane or Janet.

“We were gathering in a group to take a photo, and he touched my buttocks,” Anna says

“And how did that happen? Give me a play-by-play.” Diane asks

“I bumped into him, he caught me by my arm, and when he went to put his arm back down, he touched my right butt cheek, and just… held his hand there.”

“Are you sure this couldn’t be a misunderstanding?” Diane asks, not looking up from her computer.

“No. I know what I felt.”

“Was there drinking?”

“There’s always drinking at these things. You know this.”

“I know. And that’s always a problem.” Diane says, looking at Anna now. Just as quickly, Diane goes back to her checklist and turns to her computer, “Could the contact have been an accident when you bumped into him?”

“I suppose it could have been.”

“What did he do afterward? Did he apologize?”

“No, he acted as if nothing happened.”

“Let me cut to the chase, honey,” Diane says, looking at Anna now, although her face starts to distort, spinning inward on itself. In a warped, contorted voice, faltering between deeper and higher, Diane, or this skewed version of Diane, continues, “What exactly can you prove? What exactly can you prove? What exactly can you prove, Anna?”

Anna opens her eyes. Sweating.

She looks at her side table. The clock reads 3:23 AM.

Anna gets out of bed. She goes to her dresser and puts on workout clothes. Anna logs into a workout app and spends 30 minutes doing yoga, breathing, and listening to the instructor intensely through her headphones, focusing on each movement and instruction like a deposition.

Afterward, she switches to a legal podcast while she makes coffee. She walks out onto her apartment patio with United States Supreme Court oral argument commentary in her ear as she looks out at the night, and the soft glow of the City humming at the early hour.

She walks back inside, sits at her dining room table, and gets her laptop out of her bag. She pulls out her wireless mouse and portable mouse pad that also serves as the mouse case.

She switches from the podcast to music, letting classical music fill the silence in her mind as Anna checks her emails and responds to a few.

Anna reviews her calendar for the week ahead.

Checks the deposition notice for the HR Director in the Patterson Oil case.

“I should prep for this,” she says to herself. She begins to open the case file and review the various witness statements and documents.

She works until 8:30 am.

On Saturday, August 16, 2025, at 8:31, Anna opens up a Word document in her private Gmail drive. She begins to write down the events of the night before.

At 9:00, Anna gets up from her dining room table and leaves the apartment to go into the office.

Stay tuned for Chapter 6… coming May 4, 2026.

Leave a comment

Credibility & Chaos is a reader-supported publication. My work is free because dissecting systems shouldn’t hide behind a paywall. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free subscriber. I’ll take your money for coffee, tho.

Subscribe now

One Last Thing: Disclaimer

This work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or circumstances is purely coincidental. This post isn’t legal advice. Yes, I’m a lawyer. No, I’m not your lawyer (unless we’ve signed papers and I’m charging you my hourly rate). If you’re dealing with workplace discrimination or retaliation, talk to a qualified employment attorney in your jurisdiction. Also, stay subscribed because this stuff matters. But seriously—don’t treat this as legal advice. Love you.

Copyright © 2026 Rebecca Hayward. All rights reserved.
This original content is protected under U.S. copyright law. Reproduction, redistribution, or adaptation without express written permission is prohibited. Sharing with proper attribution is welcome; lifting ideas without credit is not.

Author’s Note: started a weekly prompt, and so I jumped in on this one.

I’m just super late to the party, pal!

Dr. Lunatic Stranger Prescriptions

1- A Cosmic Robbery (Visual Mirco-Poem)

I am starting a weekly series of visual micro-poems — each one a doorway left deliberately for you to explore your imagination and see what it tells you. They are yours to sit with, and yours to answer however you choose…

Read more

3 months ago · 39 likes · 37 comments · The stranger

So many wonderful contributions in the comments. Here’s mine:

I Am A Thief

I wade into the dark woods

Below the night sky

Under the moon, stars, and the galaxies shifting above

.

I am a thief, and I rob stones, gems, and pearls

Darkness swallowed the universe long ago

And here, emotions are scarce

To feel anything at all is coveted

Emotions are condensed into small, precious gems and sold to those who can afford them

Legally or otherwise

Jealousy, Hate. Sadness. Joy. Pride. Happiness

All for sale

And I am good at my job

But Love

Love just can’t be found

.

This does not matter to me

But I look,

sure,

because it would go to the highest bidder

But I wonder

if Love even exists

.

As I walk, the constellations guide me

I would say I chose this life

That I enjoy this.

I’ve tried that emotion once

I enjoy the chase,

the mystery,

and the solitude I’ve grown used to

.

Suddenly

I trip over a root

I fall on my face, hitting my forehead

I roll to my back, and in a daze, I look back at this dark protrusion

I trace these thick vines back along my path

Roots interwoven amongst each other

Connected like snakes to trunks as old as the moon

Following me

Or have I been following them?

I follow this particular root

the one that dared trip me,

to the base of a wide tree

.

Old

Almost grey

And here…

where the soil meets its trunk,

I am compelled to dig

With only my hands,

I move the soft, cool soil away

And I see…

A soft glow.

I’m hurried now,

my hands find dirt again

and move it away

.

But then,

Another hand joins mine

Your hand

Familiar

.

I look to my side

Up at your face

Into your eyes

And I see that I am no longer alone

Nor do I want to be again

.

You smile, and I know that smile

You speak, and I know your voice

You breathe, and I know your warmth and the rhythm of your heart.

“I’m finally here,” you say

“Finally,” I say

.

Called by the same pull

.

We turn our attention again to the base of the tree

We dig with our hands

Pulling the damp earth away

.

The glow becomes brighter

.

I pull my hands away as you dig,

and the light dulls slightly

I join you again, and it brightens

I watch your eyes,

your mind working,

and you test a theory

You pull your hands away, and it dulls once more

You join mine once again, and the glow returns bright

You look at me

We smile

Our eyes eager

“Is this Love?” you ask

“Does that exist?” I joke, but do not laugh

.

We watch it glow in our hands

Like a beating heart

Something more precious than gems

.

“They will kill it if we hand it over,” I say, “they take and never give.”

“And this needs more,” you say, slowly, still watching it. You then look at me defiantly, “so we steal it for ourselves.”

We both look back the way we came,

already wondering if we’re being watched.

I turn back to you and meet your eyes

“Together,” I respond in a whisper

“Together,” you whisper, grabbing my hand.

We look back once more and see

that, dimly,

just barely,

the roots begin to glow

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Amber’s Substack

Attorney by day, Dommie by Evening

(This is 18+Erotica staring Becky Hayward, this is strictly a work of fiction, she's not really mean…

Read more

2 months ago · 8 likes · 2 comments · Amber Estwick

These things make me quite emotional, and I feel so loved! So , here is my poem for you.

I hope you like it! Love you, girl!

For Amber, With Love Language

Hey, today, I have things to say!

About our girl, Amber East-wick!

You might think it’s no coincidence

that her name rhymes with a nice big— kick!

.

A talented writer,

and sometimes it’s smut

But don’t clutch those pearls,

There ain’t no shame for busting a— gut!

.

We laugh around here.

.

And Rule #1, we don’t kink shame

A happy ending is always the game

Doesn’t matter how you stoke your flame

What matters is that you showed up and— game!

.

But Amber writes other genres too

When lightning strikes and inspiration is struck

Flash fiction to horror, she’ll come for you

Writing wives and pool boys that always wanna—

Duck!

Here comes Amber’s HOT SEAT interviews!

She ties you down.

That consent form on lock!

And expects confessions, a full frontal view

And we’re all wondering how hard is that—

Knock knock!

“Who’s there?”

“Amber, it’s me, Fernando.”

“Oh really?” She says, “Fuck it, I’m always ready to go.”

But Fernando wanted to put a ring on it

For him, it wasn’t just going down on that—

Split!

The check, he’d never make her do!

He knows Amber can pay her own way, too

But she’s a Queen, and that’s how she should be treated

Fernando slides in, and the two are one

completed.

.

“When I let you bend me over the sink

I hope you know it’s because trust is a kink.

I’ll write you smut, it’s my love language.”

.

“I see you, girl,

that’s my advantage.”

.

And Substack all got invited to the wedding.

At the reception, all the clothes were shedding!

An orgy ensued, but I was kind of a wussy

So I came home and played with my book.

Obviously!

.

Amber, I love you!

Poems are MY love language

I hope these rhymes show you some of my own vantage!

This praise ain’t just for talks at the pillow

Fernando, move over

I get to use this vibrating—

Window!

And like Mary Poppins, the wind times my goodbyes.

You and Fernando are also giving me some really weird eyes.

.

Love you, Amber, so sexy and so smart.

You don’t give yourself enough credit

For all your beautiful art.

Whelp! It’s time for me to end this set

I hope I left you nice and— Respect!

Check out more of Amber’s work here:

Amber’s Substack

Hot Wife Demands the Pool Man To Bang Her Infront Of The Home Camera

C.W: THIS IS 18+ EROTICA VIBES: Not SUITABLE FOR ALL READERS…

Read more

2 months ago · 12 likes · 4 comments · Amber Estwick

Amber’s Substack

The phone is still ringing

Violet Encantada, PhD took on the Labyrinthia Mythweaver phone prompt, she did it in a note, her writing is in bold.. I continued the note with her permission as I really loved her story but wasn't finished reading it…

Read more

3 months ago · 5 likes · 6 comments · Amber Estwick

Amber’s Substack

Writing is my Drug

Today I take part in The In Between's weekend writing prompt…

Read more

3 months ago · 9 likes · 11 comments · Amber Estwick

Leave a comment

You can check out the episode with our favorite right here:

Stefan's Stories

Sub-Text Podcast: Episode 5 - Ellis Elms

Listen now

3 months ago · 25 likes · Stefan Pasek, Ellis Elms, and Becky Hayward

Ellis Elms

Ellis Elms

A pen name indeed

Every. Letter. Means. Something

What he writes, take heed

.

The genre is uncomfortable fiction

Inspired by the heavens

Where it’s like he takes diction.

.

Okay, I don’t want that to get to Ellis’s head

It’s big enough already

And this is a compliment I am attempting to thread

.

Uncomfortable fiction will make you think

Have you on the edge,

take you to the brink

.

We like to think of Ufic as mirrors

Awkward angles, double chins

A little too near us

.

Let me give you an example

Elm’s book “Sentenced to Heaven.”

Here, our flaws are shown in ample

.

There’s a Judge, Saint,

Priest, and a Masochist,

A Murderer, A dog,

and one of my favorites, the Activist

.

UFic asks,

“what do you see in yourself?

What’s in your soul? Your core?

What can’t be bought on a store shelf?”

.

You might find yourself in everyone

Recognize what you’ve known and decide not to outrun

.

Ellis also gives us Bleeders, Prompstututes, and Tearstackers

Gurus and Criticunts.

Not sure what to say.

I’m just gonna call you a wisecracker.

.

But before we go, let’s talk about Moby Dick

“Call Me Moby” is the story

But is it really UFic?

It’s one of the best stories I’ve certainly read

Watch out Captain A’hab,

I don’t think it’s a spoiler that you gon’ be dead

.

But okay, here we are

Time again for goodbye

Whelp! It’s been swell

Even when we can’t be creepy and look Ellis in the eye

.

Ellis, keep writing,

no “it depends.”

But and ,

giving me signals

Asking “when does this fucking end?”

.

We’ll hold up that mirror

in that weird angle

You already know what you see

Look closer, a little closer

And try not to flee.

Check out more of work here:

Ellis Elms

SUBSTACK V2

The email arrived on a Tuesday morning with the subject line: “The Great Decoupling…

Read more

6 months ago · 60 likes · 27 comments · Ellis Elms

Ellis Elms

The Second Coming

Jesus decided to go to a Starbucks in Burbank because they had a good connection to the internet and no one really paid attention to anyone anymore. He wanted a tall Pike Roast (black) so he went to …

Read more

5 months ago · 54 likes · 39 comments · Ellis Elms

Ellis Elms

The Honorable Judge Morrison

The video went viral in March of 2019…

Read more

6 months ago · 15 likes · 7 comments · Ellis Elms

Ellis Elms

One Person, One Vote, One Problem

Amber Sutton had been waiting for this moment for six months…

Read more

6 months ago · 40 likes · 25 comments · Ellis Elms

Thanks so much ! We could have chatted all day!

From your friends, , and !

Happy Birthday, Stefan

Today is April Fool’s Day!

Pranks and playful duels! Hey!

Also, ’s BIRTH-DAY!

The day he joined this earth! Yay!

Not just a random Wednesday!

Stefan can write with a pen, ya don’t say?!

Rhymes in times, the metered way!

His words never totter or teeter! Nay!

Or maybe they do, what can I say?

I don’t have an MFA!

Bit off more than I can chew today!

This rhyme scheme. Whoa, hooray, okay?!

But it’s Stefan’s fucking BIRTH-DAY!

The day-he-joined-this-fucking-EARTH-day!

We’re so glad he’s our friend! Yay!

Until the bitter end! Slay!

It’s not just pretend! No way!

Stefan, we hope you have a great day!

Podcast later, we’ll celebrate! Yay!

will do a hair flip, I’ll make him, okay!?

stabilise won’t rush out in a clip! Hope not, I pray!

“Best behavior, men!” I say!

“When does this poem end?” y’all ask, “Sometime today?”

You’re both right. Touche! Touche!

So Happy Birthday, Stefan! Today is your day! Sashe!

Only day better than this would be Caturday!

“MeeeEEEEow,” the kitties say!

Leave a comment

posted this prompt:

And our own wonderful wrote something beautiful, and I was fortunate enough to be tagged:

Here is my attempt:

And I’m including it in a post here so it doesn’t get lost (although I did edit the ending for this posted version from my original note).

From :

Image prompt time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A short poem, prose,

single line or even word

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Optional, of course.

Restack and share to pass on.

Chum

We’ve been rowing for days

The cold, the mist

and the morning haze

By day,

the sun comes in blistering

Nothing to drink,

just the salty water whispering

But nights like these

they are so dark

No moonlit glow,

no star’s spark

Capsized and stranded

we row in this sea

Seeking land or a ship

just anybody

We see them circle,

These swells come alive

We row and row

It’s how we intend to survive

They close the perimeter

we see the fins tightening

Our faces stoic

Although quite frightening

“Keep on lads!”

our Captain shouts

“Stay steady, boys

and don’t look out!”

“Eyes ahead,

we’ll make it through!

This night is tough

but so are you!”

We quicken our pace

to our Captain’s charm

But just then, a shark jumps up

and bites clean off the Captain’s arm!

We take our oars

and attempt to fight!

And I do not cry

as I watch my entire leg disappear in one swift bite!

I have become chum

floating in the water

I look up at the stars

And let my mind

begin to wander

Am I now floating?

It’s hard to know

This body and blood

are just now part of this ocean’s flow

I look toward the light

it’s welcoming.

Dare I say,

is it beckoning?

Flying or floating,

up high or below

I somehow seem to only know

That it is okay

to continue to row.

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

My apologies for the pain they cause, but here is Mack’s poem!

You can check out the podcast episode with our favorite right here:

Mack Devlin's Imperfect Speech

Sub-Text Podcast with Mack Devlin

Listen now

3 months ago · 11 likes · Mack Devlin, Stefan Pasek, and Becky Hayward

Mack Attack

It’s Mack Devlin, everyone

Come on, let’s have some fun

.

It’s the Mack Attack

Don’t Panic!

WHACK!!

.

Mack comes in

And the whole damn room spins

He’s got a lot to convey

But like in the best way

Let me tell you all about it,

We got a lot to survey:

.

Have you checked out his work?

No, you don’t gotta lurk,

One of the sharpest in the room

He’s got Imperfect Speech,

lives by a beach

And let him tell you all about “Party Pooper Syndrome”

.

“Gotta get that stack!”

Bitch, pay me!

SMACK!

Really, you gotta give that one a listen

Done with

Another fucking queen,

Pay them bitches,

I wanna see them glisten.

.

“Be cool, be calm, we’ll get to your loud ass”

Everyone has a voice

Isn’t that right, class?

A Mack quote, by the way

Covering his work,

on display!

.

There’s also “Notoriety,”

a prompt from

Obligations

Expectations

Associations.

We are both light and the dark, and

All of its manifestations.

.

Hard left to “Canned Beef.”

And “fart in a jar” critiques

It’s another that’s so much fun

But what is too low-key,

is when Mack does karaoke

Officially, this will never be overdone!

.

I want an encore

, ,

Please more!

Everyone! Check them out!

That’s an order, don’t doubt!

.

But Wow.

Is it already time for goodbyes?

How the time flies…

Everything dies…

.

Mack, it’s been so fun to give you our full attention

But quick, before you leave

“Unsoul’d” truly floored me

And that line, “She is both answer and question.”

.

Ah, you see what I did there?

The goodbye got longer

Not unlike ’s hair

And will claim his poem is shorter

I’ll double-check, though, and give him a quarter

Mack, I hope it’s been fun

Whelp, Goodbye

We’ll do this again

Unless you try to outrun.

Check out more of Mack’s work here:

Voices of Healing

Announcing the Official Launch of Voices of Healing!

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tunes without the words, and never stops at all.” ~Emily Dickinson…

Read more

4 months ago · 83 likes · 47 comments · PancakeSushi, Mack Devlin, Tangled Words, Sara da Encarnação, Bear Sage, and imi

Mack Devlin's Imperfect Speech

Cat Lady

Read more

7 months ago · 26 likes · 17 comments · Mack Devlin

Flying High in Appalachia

The Disaster Lounge

Listen now

3 months ago · 30 likes · 1 comment · Fiona Bridges, Tangled Words, Laura B Writing in the Shadows, and Mack Devlin

Thanks again, Mack! We love you!

From your friends, and !

Here’s ’s note with her prompt:

1: for those hiding under a rock, who is Becky, and what is Becky about and how was her life growing up?

I’m a Texas girl, through and through, but grew up all over, believe it or not. Born in Texas, and then moved to various places with the family. From California, New Hampshire, back to Texas. Throw in Ann Arbor, Michigan, for a year where I interned with the public defender’s office, and then I went to Law School in Florida. After graduation, I came back to Texas (live on the Gulf Coast) and have been here ever since.

Growing up, I’ve always been an avid reader. Big imagination. I would create games, stories, and get pretty lost in my own head. I have two great parents, but I was a shit kid for a while and lost my way for a bit. Had to actually start all over again in community college. But I’m here now! Annoying the heck out of y’all!

So what am I about? I’m a labor and employment lawyer now, and a shareholder/owner in my firm. I’m also a mom to a small child who is my whole world. Credibility & Chaos is where I untangle the stories we tell about work, power, and identity. What happens when the systems meant to define us start to distort us instead? I write from the absolutely unhinged middle of motherhood, law, leadership, and where “professionalism” and humanity collide.

Simultaneously, I’m trying to heal myself. Life has been hard. Lessons have been hard learned. Grief has been quite present. I write about that too. Sometimes it’s essays, sometimes it’s fiction, or silly poems, but it’s usually about what it costs to stay human in a world that feeds on performance while we’re trying to navigate just basic life.

I try to use law as the setting, not the subject, and more like a backdrop for exploring credibility, chaos, power, and humanity. And I practice law (and I suppose remain a part of the system) because, for all its flaws, it is still one of the few arenas where those rules can be challenged, line by line, case by case, and I can do my part.

2: Becky explain to the people your writing genre?

Shoot. I don’t think I have one. I’m reminded of the poem, “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman, and it reminds me that we contain multitudes. I have many names, but am not defined by one. So I write silly poems, I write legal essays, I write horror, satire, romance, and I am currently writing a legal thriller, “After the Verdict,” to touch on themes that are important to me.

Me, just talking to myself like a weirdo: “But you ain’t got no niche, Lt. Dan.”

3: Secrets behind the pay wall: What happens there and why should people consider switching to paid sub?

Honestly, everything is free and will stay free. Paid subs mostly just bully me into writing things faster. Want a poem? I’ll write it. Want the next chapter of the novel? I’ll hustle it out. Basically, they get to boss me around a little. Want me to continue some one-off story I did? I’ll do that too. Want a law review article? Fuck it. Why not. You tell me, boo.

4: Talk a little bit about Sub-Text and why should people tune in?

Yes!! Okay, so two of my fav Substack besties and , and I started a podcast where we talk to other Substackers about their work and really just have a good time! I look up to Stefan and Holvey for their absolutely amazing writing ability. Don’t know why they keep me around, but we have a lot of fun, we joke, and love our chemistry on the show. We’re also booked through until July!! So don’t sleep on this if you want to join us! Also, if you come on the show, I will write you a poem! Here’s the link to the schedule:

5: what is your best story written so far that seems to have the most traction?

Surprisingly, “Meet-Cute” has been my most popular to date! I almost didn’t post it, but readers seemed to enjoy that it starts like a rom-com and then… well… knives you emotionally. It also sparked two installments due to pay sub requests!

6: Who is some of your inspirations on Substack?

Top few for sure that I basically drop what I’m doing and run to read their work, and in no particular order (there are so many more great writers I’m leaving behind unintentionally!):

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , (to catch his lives mainly!)

(and trust me I’m still behind on their work!) So many different genres, and they are all so encouraging! I recommend subbing them all!

7: Have you developed since being on substack?

Absolutely, I have! I drifted away from creative writing once I began practicing law. I do so much legal reading and writing for the day job, so I hadn’t written creatively in a long time; like 15 years of legal writing only, y’all. In those instances, I’m limited to the record and have to work within very specific rules. The fact that I’m writing poems and fiction at all is proof of the development. Let’s see where we go from here.

9: Promote a few of your links and say something about them.

Sure. A small sampling of the random:

Here’s Chapter 1 of my serial, “After the Verdict.” We follow Anna “Machine Gun Murphy” as she navigates the law, her career, and how she handles the pressures of the job, harassment, and representing her clients while trying to stay true to herself. Can it even be done?

Here’s one of my fav poems, “RBF” where I’m bitching about the societal pressures on us women/moms.

Here’s a satire which is also uncommon for me lol:

We take it sad AF on this one:

10: Who have you done collaborations with and how does someone work with you?

I’m not really a “group project” person, but Substack changes things, I guess. lol.

I’ve done collabs with , and !

Currently working on one with . I’m slow AF on another with , and I’m pretty sure I’ll be leaving waiting forever too. I’m currently chatting with , if I don’t scare her off. lol

But and I also host “Book Stack” where we interview writers who’ve published their books! We’ve done 3 episodes so far, so go check those out!

And we got the Podcast “Sub-text” with and mentioned above.

So looks like I’m a group project person after all. lol.

I’m always down to collab, I just have no idea what I’m doing.

This concludes my interview with Becky, now over to her, thanks for considering sitting in the Hot Seat in advance.

Thanks, for the questions. You’re a shining star in this space, and we love you! Y’all should go sub her!

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Riding the Swell

I begin anew

Begin with you

.

The moon looks down

Nods her approval

Tides move before us

Bringing renewal

.

The water comes

Lapping at our feet

Your words in my ear

More than just sweet

.

Hands in your hair

Your breath on my neck

We whisper and kiss

So softly wrecked

.

Bodies connected

Utter devotion

Moving as one

Waves of the ocean

.

Rolling

Pulling

Touching

Laughing

I pull you close

as the waves keep lapping

.

We crest together

Riding the swell

Locked in your gaze

Under your spell

.

Back on the earth

We land ashore

Wrapped up together

Still wanting more

Let the World Be

Let me be wild and free

The world moves so fast

Surely this is not

our destiny

Let’s slow down

Just me and you

Sip our coffee

Outside with the moon

I love you

Just as you are

Nothing more

Already a star

You are the entire sky

All the clouds

You’re every color

All the sounds

You’re the wind in my hair

The warmth of the sun

Your hand in mine

Can make me undone

My best friend

Come over here

When you’re close

There’s nothing to fear

The world moves so fast

But you’re here with me

And we can be

just wild and free

We can’t predict

What is to come

But your quiet heart

I love its hum

If time runs fast

Let the world be

Right now it’s only you and me.

We Were Never Meant to Be Lost

The road will never look the same, and neither will I

This path we’ve chosen

I’m here ‘til we die

And even then

When we are apart

I’ll find you in the next life

Two flames in the dark

The universe bends

Watching us close

Bringing us together

Because it already knows

We were never

meant to be lost

Loving you, whatever the cost.

After Sunday

I wasn’t the same person I was this morning

Or even yesterday

Missing you, I feel this yearning

And I think of “someday.”

Holding to our memories

Our last Sunday

Time bends and turns

But love finds a way

What day is it? What year?

Days blur, time wanders

But my heart is clear

I’m not the same walking through that door

You’re the song I’ve never heard before

Haiku

Was lost in circles

Chasing what I thought was truth

Then I woke in you

Haiku

A heart that feels mine

Beats softly across the dark

My soul knows the way

Haiku

Truth, acceptance, sight

Touch, breath, and kisses at night

Still I reach for more

Whimsy and yearning again… or something darker?

Leave a comment

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

When tells me to do something, I usually comply. lol.

Here’s ’s original note with prompt:

Here’s my note with the poem (so I don’t lose it in the notes abyss):

PROMPT: Write a short poem about your future, spoken in the voice of Mother Nature, using first-person omniscient (“I” who sees and knows everything).

Two Small Lights

I was there when you first cried

It was a sunny and warm afternoon

And the warmth held you

As it always will

.

It was spring

And you grew

As things do in spring

Sprouting

.

You had no fear

As you walked barefoot across my fields

As you climbed my trees

As you napped in the warmth of my arms

.

In the winters,

I watched you angel in the snow

In the summer,

You hiked in my mountains

Drinking from my creeks

Splashing

.

But my gifts included more than terrain

The sound of the waves

Quieted your mind

The moon grew dark

So that you could grow dark too

And not be alone

.

The wind blew in your hair

The clouds moved quickly

The rain pattered on your cheeks

My shooting stars distracted you

.

You didn’t know

What you would be put through

What you will be put through

.

The wolves howled that day

On those days

And I did

Nothing

.

And they will howl again

And I will do

Nothing

.

But then

The sun came the next day

As it always does

As it will

Whether you’re here or not

.

Spring came once again

As will the scorching summers

And blistering winters

As they always do

.

Not asleep, but not fully awake

.

Until…

One day, you woke

And smiled once again

With love

.

And you ran again in my fields

You climbed higher in my trees

And now I watch you angel in the snow

.

In the warmth of my sun

You glow

.

The piece I took from you

Is made whole

.

But the world is cruel

As chaos often is

The wind blows fiercely

The tides grow high

Fires rage

Waters turn tidal

.

And so you hold on

To each other

To survive

.

And when the moon is full

You look to me

And I look to you

.

The universe holds you in its arms

And bends to you both

.

Because the least I can do

Is give you each other

.

Two small lights

Refusing the dark.

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Author’s Note: I wrote this for my dear friend and podcast co-host ! I don’t want it lost in the notes abyss.

Guess What?!?! made this into an actual song. Check it out here:

Remembring2Laugh

Ballad for Stephan Pesak

Listen now

3 months ago · 3 likes · 1 comment · Ginny Lynns (Remembring2Laugh)

Stefawn

There once was a young lad named Stefawn

No, not a “Stephen”

Like when the sun rises, Stefawn rhymes with “dawn.”

.

Did you know he’s a writer?

He pulls many all-nighters

He likes to engage and shit post

.

But he’s a real sweetheart

On top of that, he’s real smart

His writing will have you fully engrossed

.

“Iambic pentameter!”

He says all the time!

I looked this one up

‘Cause barely can I rhyme

.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

Don’t worry

Just kidding

This ain’t a Shakespeare play

.

Nay! It’s a ballad for our dear Stefawn

And just like the sun

He’s as bright as the dawn

.

He fills our lives with the written word

A gift to this world

More than we deserve

.

And more than that,

He’s our true friend

Stuck with us

Until the bitter end

.

When one goes missing

We’ll find the other

That blood oath we made

It was to each other

.

This sounds way more creepy

than it really is

‘Cause at the end of the day,

We act like big kids

.

Stefawn has a passion

for writing his soul

And once he gets started,

He gets on a roll

.

He talks about Autism

and how he has been shaped

A degree in psychology

to better understand the landscape

.

He’s a poet, a storyteller,

a true and real author

Can’t wait to see

What more will he conquer

.

We’re honored he picked us

To be his co-hosts

Matthew Holvey and I brag this the most

We have such a blast with you,

our dear Stefawn

But it’s way past my bedtime

I’m starting to yawn

.

I give you this ballad

True to my word

Reading it now

Proof that it did occur.

.

Yay! It’s a ballad for our dear Stefawn

400 subs,

then more,

on and on

And maybe with some luck,

You’ll get to 600 before dawn.

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

Author’s Note: I wrote this poem for my friend, ! I originally put it in a note, but I don’t want it lost in the abyss. and I were just thinking of ya at the same time!

HVR

Do you know HVR?

Where did he come from?

Not very far

He’s a real human

Like you and me

And believe it or not,

He’s fucking friendly

Destroying the algo

Burning it down

Still not quite sure

How he got in town

for that one live

Yes, he does that too

Brings on his friends

To join “After School.”

A street-writer, an author

What the fuck is a niche?

We don’t say that word here

Shut the fuck up, bitch

Just kidding, too hostile

I’m sorry, it’s too much

If you see his notes

HVR likes to gush

Supporting us writers

Getting out of the void

You’re never alone

When Mayhem is deployed

But back to HVR

He’s got some range

From musicals to romance

Words creating real change

Trauma, depression,

The stigmas we hold

When HVR writes

He doesn’t withhold.

He’s also got a book

“Too Soon et pero Too Late”

About his time in Colombia

It felt like reading fate

“It takes one to know one,”

I’ve told him before

He’s emotionally intelligent

Not always hardcore

Have you seen his rap battle

With Laura B? ()

It’s one to check out

I think he’d agree

He’s also a dad

To a lovely, sweet girl

Nothing is more important

She’s his whole world.

So let me end this

On a positive note

Wanted to lift up a friend

A compliment, a little dote

So HVR,

I hope this was painful

But really,

I am truly so grateful

For you and for Mayhem

The friends I have found

Like and

Not kidnapped, but bound

They proofread this for me

And roll their eyes,

And say, “Okay, Becky…”

With deep, heavy sighs

So HVR

Have a great day

This is now the longest goodbye ever

Whelp, I’ll just be on my way…

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

OMG, Mikey

Today you are six

Since the day you were born

We’ve been transfixed

You’re the kindest, the sweetest

Your energy is all that I know

You tell me, “Mommy, let’s hurry!

We gotta go!”

I love you so much

And time moves too fast

But I’ll savor each minute

Making it last

It feels like yesterday

You were just born

I think of this world

And I don’t want to warn

Please stay a child

As long as you can

Trust me, soon enough

You’ll be a man

One day you’ll fly

And swing tree to tree

Grown up, independent

But you can fly back to me

I’m your mom, always

I’ll always be here

Your safe space when you need

Even if I’m not near

But today, you’re still young

A sweet little boy

Focused on cupcakes,

Hot Wheels, and Lego toys

Enjoy this sweet day

I know that I will

You’re six, my love

But all this sugar is way overkill

So without further ado, here’s my attempt at sexy. Let me know what you think.

After dinner, I return to my hotel, and you return to yours.

We say goodbye outside the front of the restaurant.

We hug too long, but nothing more.

As we part, you grab my hand, and we look at each other.

“It was so good to see you,” you say. Your eyes look hungry and almost desperate.

“It was so good to see you,” I manage to respond.

Breathless.

“Goodnight,” I say, and turn quickly so you don’t see the tears forming in my eyes.

You take your hand and bring it up to my face, gently turning my chin toward you as you hold my gaze.

“Goodnight,” you say, your brows furrowed as if you’re in pain. “I hope to see you again soon.”

My Uber arrives. You lower your hand from my face and grab my hand once more. You give my hand one last squeeze that feels like being wrapped in your arms.

And I walk away.

I wave awkwardly as I close the car door.

You go out of sight as we drive away, and I finally let myself cry in the car.

Missing you.

Missing us and how easy it is.

I walk into my hotel room and shut the door behind me.

I take a moment to breathe and begin the nighttime routine. I wash my face. I use moisturizer.

I get into my pajamas, and I have my water by the bed. One glass of wine still needs an Advil these days.

I start thinking about you.

Your hand on my leg.

That hug.

Your hand on my face.

I look at the clock, it’s 11:03 PM.

I let my mind wander.

I imagine going to you…

Imagine that I order an Uber and plug in the address for your hotel.

I get in the car and text you that I’m on my way.

I arrive at your hotel and walk to the elevator.

You checked this beforehand, which I find sweet, and I know that I do not need a key to get up to your floor.

I text you that I’m on my way.

You text me that you can’t wait.

I am alone in the elevator, and I try to breathe as it arrives at your floor.

The elevator dings and the doors open.

I walk out of the elevator and, step by step, I move down the hall toward your room.

I text you: Walking.

You text back: I can’t breathe.

I arrive in front of room 430.

I knock twice.

Knock

Knock.

You open the door, and we lock eyes.

We look away, and you step back into the room, giving me space to walk in.

I step inside.

I put my bag on the table and look back up at you.

The door shuts on its own with a quiet slam, taking us by surprise.

I think we would have left it open otherwise. Not thinking.

I stand there trying to breathe.

I hear you inhale.

Hesitantly, you step closer.

I step closer.

We face each other.

I move close.

You move closer.

And then we hug.

Your arms around me.

My arms around you.

My head in your chest, soaking in the strong warmth and steadiness of you.

And we breathe.

I can feel your heart racing.

Matching my own.

You hold me tight, and I feel you breathing me in, your face in my hair.

I hold tightly around your back, gripping your shoulders, my face in the warmth of your chest.

Clothed, but our bodies connected as we stand and hold each other.

Remembering your smell.

Your feel.

Your safety.

We break free just barely, and I look up at you.

You look down at me.

Your hands reach up, and you take my face in your hands.

I catch my breath again.

I reach up and hold the back of your neck with my hands.

Bringing you closer.

We kiss.

Both of us inhale sharply as if breathing each other in.

We’ve kissed many times before, but this feels like the first time and the last time. Excitement mixed with grief, loss, and longing.

We continue to breathe, lips locked, mouths parting, our tongues touching.

It becomes too much, and I push you away playfully and step back.

I turn serious, “What are we doing?”

You look me in the eye, ”Falling off a ledge. I don’t know.”

”That’s exactly what this is. Fucking crazy.”

“It’s Insane. Fucking insane,” you say. And you don’t take your eyes from me.

We are saying the words, but our eyes are desperate for each other.

”So what do we do? It didn’t work last time.”

”I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

”And so what? We just carry this on? What the fuck am I even doing?”

”I don’t know,” you say, still looking at me, “And yet, here we are.”

”Here I am. And here you are, and we’re feeling these feelings, knowing this is insane. And this may never work because it’s insane. But here we are. Here I am. With you…”

”Here you are,” you say, moving closer to me, “Falling off the ledge. Together.”

I move closer to you, “I can’t help myself. I can’t stop thinking of you.”

You move closer.

”I can’t stop thinking of you. I can barely function throughout my day since we saw each other. I barely remember to eat.” You say this as you wrap your arms around me again.

”I can’t sleep.” I say, “I feel like I’m in a constant haze. Where am I? What year is it?” I joke.

We both laugh as I wrap my arms around you.

I lean in, and we kiss again. Mouths open. Tongues exploring hungrily but carefully.

Your hands grab my hips, and we fall onto the couch together. I straddle you and continue to kiss you.

Your hands move as we kiss. Down my back, down my hips, and you grab my ass, moving me closer to you, and I can feel your body responding to me. I gasp at your grip, your strength melting me.

My body responds to you.

My hands are in your hair as our lips and tongues continue to find each other.

Remember each other.

You move your mouth lower, and you begin to kiss my face, my chin, my neck, breathing heavily into me.

I am undone.

I start to unbutton my shirt.

One button, and then one more, as your mouth works its way down—

Knock

Knock

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on my hotel door.

I look at the clock, and it’s just before midnight.

I sit there for a moment, my heart still racing.

Then the knocking comes again.

END.

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

If you need to catch up, Chapter 3 is here:

If you need to start from the beginning, Chapter 1 is here:

Chapter 4: Don’t Be A Lot

Anna takes a sip of water while she waits for her drink order. She stares forward, still, as if she’s listening to something no one else can hear.

“It’s just us now. He’s gone,” Constance Murphy tells her daughter, Anna, who is three years old. Anna is on her mother’s hip, watching as men in uniforms take her father into a loud red and white vehicle.

Her mother is crying.

Anna struggles to keep her eyes open, and her head is heavy with sleep on her mother’s chest. Anna notices that the thumping within her mother moves faster, and a hurried panic sets in. Anna closes her eyes and feels her body matching her mother’s rhythm.

Anna and her mother move from their two-story brick house in the gated community to a manufactured one that shakes when they walk. Constance quickly finds work as a secretary for a local accounting firm, but it still means Anna needs to be cared for during the day. Anna needs to be quiet so her mother can work, and Anna knows her mother works a lot.

“I’ve got her, Connie,” Alexis tells Anna’s mother. Alexis is their neighbor; she lives alone with her small dog, Wallace, or sometimes it’s Wally, or William Wallace, depending on Alexis’s mood. Anna notices that she has a nice fence around her mobile home, which provides a safe space for “William Wally Wallace the Third.” Anna likes that about Alexis.

“Are you sure? I know it’s a lot. She can be a lot,” Anna hears her mother respond to Alexis while she pets Wally.

Anna plays alone during the day while Alexis watches tv. Anna stays with Alexis often, and Anna tries not to be a lot.

“Here you are ma’am,” the server returns with her glass of wine and sets it on the table. Anna stares at it.

“Do you have any questions about the menu? I know it can be a lot…” the waiter’s voice trails off…

When Anna is in kindergarten, she throws a rock at an older boy. He threw a rock first, but he missed, and there is barely a scrape on her arm. She doesn’t miss, however, and the rock hits him right under the eye. Immediately, it becomes a blossoming, bloody bruise, and the boy begins to wail.

Anna waits alone and on the edge of her chair in the school hallway as her mother speaks to the principal. Her right leg taps up and down. Anna watches as the boy’s parents walk past her, looking at her, and go into the office. She waits for what she knows will be her mother’s wrath, and chews her fingernail.

“You can’t do this, Anna,” her mother says sternly, but she does not yell.

As they walk back to the car, Constance continues speaking, “I’m mad, Anna, but mostly, I’m disappointed in you.”

Constance’s eyes shine like glass marbles, and Anna sees apprehension and fear in them. Anna hugs her mom tightly.

Anna, only five, notices the same hurried panic that has become a constant in her mother’s chest, growing stronger.

“Uhm, no, I have no questions about the menu.” Anna responds to the server, “I’ll just take a moment to review.”

Anna holds up the menu.

“I’m so tired, Mom. Please, can I go to sleep?” Anna begs, eyes half open; she is wearing care-bear pajamas. It’s 11:45 PM. Anna brings home worksheets, spelling, and math. Constance makes her perfect them, re-do them, and memorize them.

Again and again.

“You have to get these right, Anna. There’s no guarantee I’ll always be here. You have to be able to rely on yourself. This is where it starts, baby, with school, it’s how you can get out of here,” her mother says, tight, strained, unsettled.

“I’m so sorry, Anna,” James, her uncle, says as he tries to comfort Anna on a visit. Anna is eight years old, and she has spent the entire morning practicing, pacing in her room; gathering the courage to ask her mother about going to a sleepover at a friend’s house. When she does, Constance tells her “no” in a single word and gives Anna her back as she turns again to the sink. The discussion is over

“She’s being protective because she’s been through so much. It was rough for us, and I know she never talks about it. But I know for a fact your mother is doing everything for you because she loves you. It seems unfair right now, but we know how this world can be, and she’s just making sure you’re prepared for it.”

The following year, Constance and Anna move out of the mobile home and into a small apartment.

When Anna is twelve, Constance marries a man named Ramiro. He’s a nice man, and Constance and Ramiro have two additional girls–twins–soon after. Lucy and Sarah.

Anna helps care for her sisters.

Connie grabs her keys from the counter and kisses the girls’ foreheads as they sit in their highchairs. The family sits at the dinner table as Constance is on her way to night classes for her Bachelor’s degree.

Constance kisses Anna’s forehead, “You can’t rely on anyone but yourself,” she says, as if an apology and a warning. Constance waves bye to Ramiro.

Later that evening, like most evenings, Anna and Constance sit together at the dining room table, doing homework.

The clock reads 11:45 PM.

Anna looks at the menu, not reading the words. She closes her eyes for a moment. She can hear Sheldon and Vince congratulating each other and cheering.

“I want to thank my family, the support of Ramiro, and you girls,” Constance says, raising her glass to the table. She has just graduated and they are at dinner, celebrating the occasion. “I wouldn’t have been able to make it here without you all. This is for us and for a better future for us all. We want you girls to have what we didn’t have.” Constance gives Ramiro a peck, and they both smile.

Later that evening, after the graduation celebration dinner, Constance knocks on Anna’s bedroom door. She has her graduation cap with her. Constance sits on the edge of Anna’s bed and places the cap on her head. They giggle as it falls off Anna’s head.

“Today was important, do you know why?” She pauses but does not expect Anna to answer, “I’ll always be able to land on my feet somewhere, baby. I want that for you, too. I don’t ever want us to have to go back to not having options. Trapped. Stuck. Simply trying to survive and wondering when our next meal will be. I don’t want you doing this,” she points to the cap, “at my age.” Constance smiles and goes on, “You have to be able to take care of yourself. You can’t rely on anyone. I just want what’s best for you.”

Anna hugs her mom tightly.

One day, Anna goes to visit her mother at work. She needs to grab something for the twins from her mother’s car so that Anna can take them to soccer practice. Constance is one of the accountants now and has her own office. Anna is sitting in the chair across from her mother’s desk when a man walks in. Anna recognizes him as Scott Reynolds, her mother’s boss.

“I heard your daughter stopped by, Connie,” he says, smiling warmly at Anna, “just wanted to come by and say hi.”

“Anna, be polite,” Constance commands.

Anna stands and shakes Scott’s hand, “Hi, Mr. Reynolds, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s Scott around here, Anna,” he responds kindly.

“Scott,” Constance says before he can walk out, “did you get that email I sent on the merger that Watson and Meyers want to do? Their files are a mess. It’s going to be a big project.”

“You’re too pretty to worry about that, Connie. Just smile and join me at the meeting tomorrow. It will be alright.” Scott responds.

“As you wish, sir,” Connie says, looking down at her desk.

Anna can hear glasses clinking around her.

On the night of Anna’s law school graduation, Constance catches Anna at the car before the celebratory dinner. Anna can tell her mother has been working up to say something.

“Anna, I’m so proud of you. I can only imagine where you might have gone if you had had more resources. If I had more resources to give you. But you’re here. You made it.” Her mother’s eyes are damp with urgency, “I’ve never been in the rooms you’re about to walk into. That’s power, honey. Protection. Don’t rock that boat. Keep working hard, and you won’t have to suffer as we did in the beginning.”

A single tear streams down Constance’s cheek. “I’m so proud of you. You’re such a good role model to the girls. I love you, honey,” and Constance hugs Anna tight.

Later at dinner, Constance makes a toast,

“To Anna, my brilliant daughter. We’ve been through so much, but you’ve overcome them all,” Constance beams, “You are so strong, so smart, and–” Constance’s voice cracks, but she composes quickly, “This world is tough, but you, Anna, you are tougher, and you can handle anything. Congratulations on graduating from law school, honey, and we cannot wait to hear how exciting your time will be with Luis & Watkins. Ramiro says he hopes it’s like Suits.”

“Are you ready to order, ma’am?” the server asks. Anna turns her head and looks at Sheldon.

Long enough to know. Not long enough to be sure.

Chapter 5 is here:

Leave a comment

Credibility & Chaos is a reader-supported publication. My work is free because dissecting systems shouldn’t hide behind a paywall. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free subscriber. I’ll take your money for coffee, tho.

Subscribe now

One Last Thing: Disclaimer

This work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or circumstances is purely coincidental. This post isn’t legal advice. Yes, I’m a lawyer. No, I’m not your lawyer (unless we’ve signed papers and I’m charging you my hourly rate). If you’re dealing with workplace discrimination or retaliation, talk to a qualified employment attorney in your jurisdiction. Also, stay subscribed because this stuff matters. But seriously—don’t treat this as legal advice. Love you.

Copyright © 2026 Rebecca Hayward. All rights reserved.
This original content is protected under U.S. copyright law. Reproduction, redistribution, or adaptation without express written permission is prohibited. Sharing with proper attribution is welcome; lifting ideas without credit is not.

They sit across from each other in a small half-circle booth. The restaurant is dim, and a single lamp sits in the center of the table, providing an amber glow across their faces.

Neither of them should be there. They know this. It wasn’t planned. It had been fifteen years since they had last seen eachother and this was just a chance encounter.

“It’s been so long,” he had said earlier in the day, “can I take you to dinner? To catch up?”

She hesitated, not because she didn’t want to, but because she remembered how it ended last time.

Still, she agreed.

“How long are you in town for?” He asks her now at dinner.

“Just until tomorrow. Flying back in the afternoon.”

“Want me order us a bottle to share?” he asks, something they used to do often.

“I do,” she says, “But I don’t.”

He looks at her, studying her face.

He moves closer to the center of the booth.

She does too. Not enough to be obvious.

They sit in silence for a minute, and their hands rest on the vinyl seat between them.

Not touching.

She stares forward and takes a sip of her water with her other hand.

His pinky then touches hers. Nothing more.

The contact is barely there, but it’s enough. The years melt, and memories move through her like an electric current, and she catches her breath. She inhales carefully. She can feel her body responding to him, and she adjusts in her seat. But she does not move her hand.

He then hooks his pinky around hers.

She stills and lets him hold her pinky with his, and it feels like they’re weathering a storm together.

She hears a breath he can’t hide.

“How do we do this?” She asks, turning toward him.

“Do what?” He says coyly, with a grin rising on just one side of his mouth.

She can’t help but smile.

She pulls her hand away and finds the menu.

He does the same.

Their thighs are closer now. Touching. Neither of them moves.

The waiter takes their order, and they both nod politely.

When the waiter leaves, she turns to him.

“What did you want to meet for?” She asks, finally.

“Just a meal with a friend is all, to catch up.” Again, playful.

“Is that what we are now?”

“What else can we be?” He asks, seriously now.

“I don’t know. It’s complicated, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

Slowly, he places his hand on her bare knee. Not moving. Just there. The weight of it is louder than a grab would be.

She covers his hand with hers, gripping it hard, holding it in place.

They both know this is the line.

He slides his thumb once over her skin. Barely.

She closes her eyes for half a second.

“Fuck,” she whispers. Not angry. Not amused.

Just.

Undone.

He leans closer, voice low. “Say the word.”

The appetizers arrive. They both straighten.

Under the table, his hand remains exactly where it shouldn’t be.

“We can’t do this,” she says, “I can’t do this. It almost broke me last time,” she says quietly, her eyes are glistening.

But she doesn’t move his hand.

“We walked away, remember?” she says.

“You walked away.”

“You didn’t even fight for me,” she says.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

Silence sits between them.

The lamp hums softly.

“I thought if you wanted me,” she says, “you would have said something.”

“I thought if you wanted me,” he replies, “you would have stayed.”

“You know I couldn’t have done that.”

Their knees are touching now. Neither of them moves.

She swallows, “I would have waited for you.”

He exhales.

Tears swell in her eyes but do not run down.

“You’re in ‘someone else’s sky’ now,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says and pauses before speaking again, “It just took me too long to realize I was in the wrong place.”

She catches her breath and closes her eyes. A single tear runs down.

She opens her eyes to see him staring intently at her.

The weight of fifteen years presses between them. There’s no anger or accusation anymore. Just facts. Just history.

He leans back slightly, finally creating space.

She studies him. The lamp light softens the lines around his eyes, and she remembers when those lines weren’t there.

The waiter appears, polite, oblivious, “Can I get you anything else?”

She feels his knee still brushing hers.

She feels the history.

The almost.

The depth of the ache from years ago.

She looks at the waiter.

“Yes,” she says. “I’ll take a glass as well.”

He glances at her.

“Just one?” he asks quietly.

She meets his eyes.

“For now.”

END.

Check out Installment 3 here:

Leave a comment

Subscribe now