Perry Mason sat staring at the pile of papers and books littering his desk and wondering how he had managed to make such a complete disaster of his life.

He should have seen it coming. In retrospect, Della had been acting oddly for the last two months, but he, the defense attorney who regularly made it into the headlines for noticing the tiniest inconsistencies in witnesses' testimony or in the facts of a crime, had not noticed. She had become more reserved and quieter than her wont, but he dismissed it as a side effect of the long hours they had been working. For the first time in three years, she had informed him, in a strangely flat voice, that she would need a week off in order to help her parents 'take care of some business'. When he mentioned the fact that her birthday would fall during the proposed vacation and that they should celebrate when she returned, she had merely thanked him for remembering, rather than suggesting a restaurant or other plans. And, she had stood in the doorway and looked back at him just a moment too long on that last Friday before going home. Now he realized that it was because she had no intention of returning.

This was part of a larger problem, Perry guiltily admitted to himself. He rarely worried where Della was concerned. He never worried about her work, because he knew that it would always be perfectly done. He never hesitated to pick up the phone and call her at night, because he knew that she would always be ready to fulfill his instructions to the letter. In short, he had started taking the woman he loved for granted, and now he would pay dearly for it.

His well-ordered world had abruptly crumbled during a hunt for paperclips. Della had been on her vacation for less than an hour and his office was still devoid of staff on Monday morning when he found himself needing some of the metal implements. There were none in his desk, none in Della's, so he finally made his way to Gertie's desk in the reception area. He found a few paperclips and was about to close her drawer when an envelope caught his eye.

Pulling it out, he realized that his name, 'Mr. Perry Mason', was typed across it. Paper-clipped to the side of it was a note in Della's unmistakable handwriting:

'Gertie, please give this to Mr. Mason on May 31st'.

Brow furrowing, and being too curious to wait the required seven days to properly receive the letter from Gertie, he quickly opened it. The missive inside was typed, short, and made his heart stop.

To Mr. Perry Mason,

This letter is to inform you of my resignation from your law firm, effective immediately. Please accept my gratitude for the opportunity to be in your employ for the last three years. As of yesterday, May 30th, I have become a married woman and my time will hereafter belong to my household. I wish you and your law firm continued success.

Sincerely,

Della Street

Perry's knees buckled, and he fell back, barely conscious, into Gertie's chair. For fifteen seconds every muscle in his body was paralyzed, and then his lungs began to draw ragged breaths. He looked again at the horrible letter. No, he had not misunderstood it. Della had resigned. Della was to be married. Married!

Physical and emotional pain, such as he had never felt before, engulfed him, and with it, regret. If he had only told her, years ago! Maybe, just maybe, if he had told her that he had been smitten with her the moment she arrived for her first interview – that she had grown dearer to him every day that they spent together – that he loved her wit, her voice, her smile, her kindness – maybe she would have been his wife now. But he had not, for a very poor reason: for once in his life, Perry Mason had been a coward. He had feared that she would not share his affection and that his confession of love would frighten her away. And now, he had lost her anyway. Another man held her heart, and always would.

He sat there, completely listless and broken, tears pouring down his cheeks, for half-an-hour. Noises from the hallway eventually roused him. His staff would be coming in for the day, and it would not do for them to find him in his present state. Setting the desk to rights but taking Della's letter with him, he dragged himself up and went back to his own office. Locking the door behind him, he made his way to his chair, and threw the piece of paper on the desk.

The walk, as short as it was, managed to clear his head slightly. His usual instincts began to return to him, and something prompted him to pick up the letter once more and reread it.

Something was wrong.

The signature was unmistakably Della's, but the rest of the letter was so cold, so unlike her – could Della truly be so heartless as to resign without bidding him or Paul Drake goodbye in person? Was she worried that he would plead with her to stay on as his secretary? But that made no sense; Della had shown that she could hold her own in a debate with him.

And then there was the matter of whom she could possibly be marrying. Perry racked his memory, but he could not recall ever seeing Della wear an engagement ring. And there had been no subtler signs of suitors in her life. There had been no flowers in the office save those that he bought for her; no personal phone calls. He had dropped by her apartment several times, and occasionally saw a female friend sitting there, but never a gentleman. He often even attended the same church as her on Sundays, and he had seen her engaging in conversations with families and children afterwards, but never with single young men. When had her future husband managed to woo her?

A suspicion began to brew in his mind. Wiping his face with a handkerchief, he phoned Paul Drake and practically ordered him to his office. When that man appeared, he looked him full in the face and asked,

"Did you know that Della was planning to resign and get married?"

"WHAT?!" the blond-haired detective hollered.

Perry relaxed the tiniest little bit. At least his best friend had not double-crossed him.

"Well, apparently she is," he said, handing him Della's letter. Shock filled Paul's face when he read it, but he demonstrated none of the other feelings which were still suffocating Perry's heart. "That is very unlike Della," he said at length, "do something so rash."

"I agree," Perry Mason said. Leaning forward, he declared, "Paul, we have to find out who she's marrying."