Date: Friday, April 18th, 2014

Time: 4:45pm

Location: Mr. Grossberg's Office, Grossberg Law Offices, Los Tokyo

My quick phone call to Maria, intended just to spread good news, turned into a tearful three-hour discussion about her condition: when she found out about it, what stage she was in, and what was the prognosis.

She told me it was metastatic, in her case meaning it had spread from her pancreas to other organs and her lymph nodes. This revelation knocked the wind out of me. I had yet to know someone personally who died of cancer, but I knew enough that this diagnosis wasn't good.

I tried to keep us positive, but she said that it was best to be realistic instead. I asked her not to be so negative, but when I had looked up the prognosis statistics on my laptop, while still on the phone with her, it sank in that she was right. The survival rate was only 3%; after five years, 97% of people with her exact diagnosis ended up dying.

I started crying. I apologized because I knew that extra emotion was not what she needed right now. She said it was okay. She had been putting off telling me because she knew how I'd react, but it had to be done and she regretted not telling me sooner.

Maria and I had not always seen eye-to-eye on everything, but hearing this news struck me hard in two ways. One, I knew how devastated Diego would be, both if he woke up in time and had to watch his mother go through this, and if he didn't wake up in time and never got to say goodbye.

Two, in some ways, she had been a second mother to me these past few months. I haven't had a mother for almost half my life now, with mom leaving three weeks before my thirteenth birthday. While no one could replace mom, and mom and Maria's personalities were quite different, it was nice to have a motherly presence in my life again.

I asked her how long she knew about it, and she paused once more. She said that she started suspecting something was wrong in September but had ignored it. Diego had just ended up in the hospital, so she thought it was unlikely that something so horrible would happen after such a tragedy. He would not allow this, she said, referring to the big Him. She assumed that the grief had been the main cause of her tiredness and weight loss.

In November, she couldn't put it off any longer, going to see her doctor when she noticed her urine was darker and her skin was yellowing. They inserted a stent to stop her jaundice, saying there was a blockage in her bile ducts. When they went to investigate further, they determined her diagnosis. I tried to think back to that time, not remembering her skin yellowing, but she said it was always harder to tell on darker skin tones, even taking her a while to notice.

I had asked if there was anything we could have done, some way we could have stopped this. In typical Maria fashion, she said there was no sense dwelling on it since we couldn't go back in time. Unfortunately, she was just dealt an unlucky hand, with this type of cancer being notoriously difficult to treat. Most people didn't have symptoms until it had already spread.

She told me that she was too tired to work as much, had given up her full-time position at the hospital, and had switched to casual. Her boss knew and now she mostly picked up "princess shifts," four-hour shifts intended to fill gaps and shortages.

She liked being able to still work, but she couldn't believe how fast she had declined. She used to do 12-hour shifts in the ER and eight-hour shifts in the stroke unit, and, previously, it wasn't uncommon for her to do overtime.

The next day, we had our typical Saturday visit with Diego, and retread much of the same ground as we had over the phone. We hugged at the end of the visit, and she made a request to me as she dropped me off at home: wanting help to update and finalize her will.

I agreed, saying I had become quite good at drafting wills over the past year. I offered to do it pro bono, independently from the firm. She refused the offer of free work, but I told her that I was more stubborn than she was, and she backed down.

The whole week, thinking about her and Diego, made me re-examine a lot of things. I was always aware of the precariousness of life. Being from a family of mediums meant I had witnessed all kinds of tragic situations and had interacted with many tortured spirits. However, this news was acutely sobering and brought that awareness to the forefront of my mind.

I had been so invigorated by my victory on Friday, but the air was sucked out of me when I returned to work on Monday. Now that I had ended my strike from criminal trials, I could have asked Mr. Grossberg to keep assigning me to cases, but I didn't. Hearing about Dahlia's conviction that week gave me a small moment of joy but, otherwise, I resumed my humdrum routine.

I realized that I needed to finally make a leap and do something drastic. I had been a zombie these past eight months. While a job change wouldn't solve that completely, I thought it would help. Nothing in life was guaranteed and I needed to prioritize the things I cared about.

Later, this Friday afternoon, 15 minutes before Mr. Grossberg was set to leave for the day, I stopped by his office, a typed resignation letter in hand. I knocked on his open door to announce my arrival.

"Hi Mia," he said. "Are you getting ready to head out for the day?"

"Uh, yes, almost done. I just needed to talk to you," I said nervously.

"What is it?"

"Um. Well. Maybe it's best if you just read this." I handed him my resignation letter.

As I watched him review it, I saw his eyes widen once he realized. "It really saddens me to read this," he said disappointedly. "I wish you the best though," he continued, smiling halfheartedly.

"Thank you, sir. It-it was a hard decision, but I think it's the best for me right now."

"I understand." He paused. "Do you mind shutting the door?" he asked. "There is something I've been meaning to tell you."

I obliged, although I was nervous at what he was going to say. I've had enough bombshells for a lifetime this past year. "What did you need to tell me?"

He sighed. "I really hoped that by hiring you and helping your career, I could make it up to you. I'm sorry that you didn't have the experience you needed here."

"What do you mean?"

He cleared his throat. "I want to assure you that I would have hired you anyway because I thought you were brilliant. However, I was also hoping to make amends."

I tilted my head and tried to process what he was saying. "Sir, I don't understand."

"Back in December 2001, there was a murder case at the firm that Robert took on. The murder of defense attorney Gregory Edgeworth. The prosecution and police had relied on a spirit medium to determine the killer. The medium's name ended up leaking to the press."

I covered my mouth and shook my head. "Sir, you didn't?" I asked, horrified.

He cleared his throat again before continuing. "In exchange for money, a man had asked me to provide the identity of the medium." He swallowed. "I should have known better. If he was offering money, it wasn't innocuous. I didn't see the harm at the time. I thought it was easy money for, at worst, a day of gossip in the tabloids." His voice faltered. "I didn't realize how much pain I would cause."

I wasn't sure if I wanted to cry or yell. Probably both. All this time, the person who leaked my mom's name to the press and caused her to leave was just down the hall. I needed his full confession, so I kept my emotions inside. "Who was this man?" I asked calmly.

"His name is Redd White. He owns a consulting company, although what he deals in mostly is bribery and blackmail. His business is more of a money laundering scheme."

A consulting company? There was one that came to the firm every year and made annual recommendations for improvement. Reina told me that they cost a pretty penny to contract, but they never seemed all that useful. "Bluecorp?" I asked.

He nodded. "I won't pretend that I lost as much as you but taking that bribe has haunted me for the last 12 years. The police were trying to identify who had leaked your mom's name and Redd White blackmailed me, stating he would reveal my identity if I didn't cooperate. He would crater my reputation and the firm would crumble. I've paid for his consulting services every year since, costing me way more than the initial bribe was worth."

I was silent for an uncomfortable amount of time, but I just couldn't generate any words. I was completely speechless.

"I'm so sorry, Mia. If there is anything I can do, please tell me," he pleaded.

Everything started to make sense. No wonder I was his work daughter. He had felt so bad that he wanted to make it up to me with special treatment. "I don't know," I said plainly. I really didn't. Nothing he could do would bring mom home or give me back the last 12 years with her.

"You're starting your own firm, right?" he asked. "That's why you're leaving?"

"Yes, that was my hope."

"Are you buying an office space?"

"Well, no. I just paid off my student loans two months ago and I don't have enough saved. I was going to rent a small one-room office until I had enough money."

He didn't say anything and just pulled something out of one of his desk's drawers: his checkbook. He filled in a check, ripped it out of his book, and handed it to me. "Buy a place, a good one. This will cover your down payment."

I looked down at the check: $35,000. My eyes widened and I got overwhelmed. "Sir, I can't accept this. This is just too much," I said frantically. I tried to hand it back to him.

"Please," he said insistently, refusing to take it back. "This is how much the bribe was, plus interest. I gave away your mother's identity for $25,000. I want to make this right."

It was crazy to hear the amount. I don't know what a reasonable bribe would be, but $25,000 didn't seem like enough for a man of Mr. Grossberg's position. The way he wrote that check without a second thought confirmed that.

Still, $35,000 was a lot of money to me. I called starting my own law firm my 5-year plan because I knew how expensive it would be. I wanted to have $100,000 saved, just in case. I only had $10,000 right now and was being rash to leave like I was. I just couldn't stay any longer. This money wouldn't allow me to reach that savings goal, but it would make the venture less risky.

Finally, I answered him. "I don't know, sir," I said hesitantly. "It's really important for me to be independent. To prove that I could do this on my own," I continued, with more determination.

"Mia, nothing about this situation is independent," he said, without skipping a beat. "If I hadn't done what I did, you wouldn't even be in this office right now. You'd be back home. I'm just closing the loop."

I was taken aback. He was right; I often thought of that myself. If mom hadn't left, I would have followed in her footsteps. I wouldn't have gone to law school. I never would have worked here. Never would have met Diego. I just wasn't used to Mr. Grossberg being, well, competent.

I often wondered how he created his empire, having a successful firm that employed 34 people. He was ready to throw Phoenix to the wolves at the slightest inconvenience during our trial. He was so forgetful with even the most basic things. He also didn't have the drive of everyone here. While most of the attorneys would stay late, he rarely left after 5pm.

The argument he just made was well-reasoned and convincing though. I wasn't sure if he had thought about this situation a lot over the years and had that argument pre-prepared or if I was just seeing a glimpse of the lawyer he used to be, at the beginning of his career, before he started phoning it in. Once again, I didn't say anything.

"Mia," he persisted. "If you take this money, you'll be more independent than you've ever been. You don't have to search for the truth anymore. You can practice law the way you want."

He was right. I knew what had happened now; this lifelong mystery was just solved in an instant. Why did I not feel relief though? Probably because she was still gone, and I hadn't found her yet. "Okay, I'll accept it" I eventually replied. "Thank you, sir," I said graciously.

"Don't thank me," he ordered. "This is reparation." I nodded back. "I know you must hate me now, but is it okay if I offer you some advice for your firm?"

I should hate him, but I couldn't. He messed up horribly, but he tried so hard to fix it. Bad as this is to say, that was more than mom did. She just ran away and never looked back. "Of course," I agreed.

He cleared his throat once more in preparation. "Running a firm is a tough business. I know you want to help people, but when you charge for your services, take whatever you think it will cost and tack on 30%. Everything costs more than you think it will."

I nodded. "Maybe I should write this down," I said, but I didn't bring a pen or a pad with me.

"You'll remember," he said, before continuing. "Track everything. Every hour and every expense. If you miss anything, you'll be surprised at how quickly things can fall apart." He paused. "You can't spare any expense with your clients though. Your office can be as cheap as you want, but the customer-facing areas must be nice. Clients say they don't care about those things, but they absolutely do."

"This is good advice, thank you."

"One more thing: add "& Co." to your firm name."

"& Co.?"

"You were going to call it Fey Law Offices, right?" he asked. I nodded. "Fey & Co. Law Offices sounds more established. Like you have a whole team."

"Sir, won't they know when they walk in that I'm the only one there?"

"Getting clients in the door is the hard part. Once they're there, they'll stay."

"Right, that makes sense," I agreed. "I hadn't thought about that. I'll probably have to advertise or else no one will know that I'm there."

"You'll have to win," he said.

Date: Thursday, November 13th, 2014

Time: 10:19am

Location: Maria's Room, Oncology Unit, Shinjuku Heights Teaching Hospital

After many more rounds of "and another thing," my head filled with advice for my new firm, Mr. Grossberg left for the day. I gave him the customary two weeks' notice in my resignation letter, but he told me that I was free to finish today if I completed all my ongoing work and was able to clean out my desk.

He said that he could tell for a while that I was going to quit and had prepared for it. Before he left, he asked me to reach out to him if I needed anything and I promised that I would.

I stayed four hours late, finishing up the last of the paperwork I had worked on that day, and packing up anything of mine or Diego's still left in the building. I had taken most of his stuff home months ago, but I still had his favorite pen, his favorite mug, and a small, framed photograph of the two of us together that he used to keep on his desk.

On one of our less tired Saturdays, about two or three months into dating, we went on a big hike to a mountain near the city. Unfortunately, we didn't have many photos together, but that framed one was so nice it almost made up for it. We were both smiling with the beautiful vista from the top of the peak in the background.

Diego always said that school was just a means to an end for him, but his choice of favorite mug proved that wasn't true. His class of 2010 mug from LTU was crushed the day of my first case and, when we cleaned up the shards, he had debated saving them so he could try and piece it back together. He was tickled when I stopped by the campus bookstore one day and managed to get a dusty replacement that they had tucked away in storage.

Reina, who smartly never really cared about corporate ladder-climbing had gone home for the weekend by the time I finished the meeting, but I had texted her the news so she wouldn't find out Monday morning with everyone else. She playfully reprimanded me for leaving, jokingly asking to take her with me.

We had coffee the next week to talk about my departure and I asked her how everyone had reacted. She said that they were initially quite shocked, but everyone moved on quickly. She told me that stuff like this is why she never got too devoted to a job. They treat you as irreplaceable and then forget about you immediately after you leave.

The second I made it home that Friday night, my entire focus became finding an office space. I had looked on countless real estate websites to find the perfect one. I had fun looking at places but reading the list prices made the experience less pleasant. Office spaces, even small ones, could easily cost over one million dollars.

Even with the money that Mr. Grossberg gave me, the most I could buy was $700,000 and even that would mean a hefty mortgage payment, utilities, and property taxes. The more expensive the place, the more money I'd have to make each month.

That Monday, I went to the bank, got approved for a mortgage and found a real estate agent. He showed me half a dozen places in my price range, but all of them were dingy, small, in a bad part of town, or all three.

He mentioned one more place, but he had hesitated to show it to me. When we looked at it, I didn't understand why. It was very plain but clean, with freshly painted walls and new carpets. It was only 1000 square feet, but it had a lobby area, a small personal office, and a private bathroom. It was exactly what I needed.

I asked him what the catch was. It was a perfectly serviceable place in a good part of town, and right across from the luxurious Gatewater Hotel. I guessed that it was out of my price range, but he said no, saying it was $50,000 under budget.

When I asked if someone was murdered here, he said no, but he admitted that someone probably had been outside. On the surface, the location was perfect, but there were two rival mob families that both lived a block away from here in opposite directions.

Naturally, I didn't like the idea of being caught in the middle of a gang war, but I didn't have the money to get a place this nice in a safer location. My agent recommended that I don't walk alone at night and buy a gun and I'd probably be fine. I wasn't keen on getting a weapon, but I still placed an offer that day and finalized the sale that week.

Starting a firm was more work than I thought, having to furnish the entire place, set up the price structure for all my services, and develop templates from scratch for all my paperwork. Not only that but, as Mr. Grossberg had mentioned, I had an uphill battle obtaining clients as a lawyer who only served on two criminal defense cases.

The first month I made no money, basically only opening for business by the final days of the month. The second month was terrifying. I was able to attract some clients for law services, but not as many as I needed to cover my expenses and I still had no criminal cases. I didn't have a lot of money left after spending it on furniture and the down payment, so I had to get rid of my apartment and live at the firm.

After living in an overstuffed bachelor apartment, I finally had to declutter the place and declutter my life. Even though the office was almost three times the size of my apartment, I didn't have the space to store all that stuff while keeping the business aesthetically pleasing to clients.

I got rid of nearly everything, keeping only my clothes, my law books, and some mementos from back home and from my relationship. I kept all my toiletries in a caddy in my desk that I would bring into the bathroom in the morning and at night. I slept on the couch in my office.

At first, getting rid of all my stuff was painful. However, once it was gone for good and out of sight, I was surprised at how I was able to get by without it. I had all the important stuff I needed with me.

By the third month of operation, business started to pick up and the sacrifices I made had been worth it. As with every summer, crime spikes and the extra demand brought my first criminal defense client to the firm that July.

Thinking about what Mr. Grossberg said, I knew that winning was important to build my reputation as a defense attorney and bring in more business. However, I didn't want to win if it meant helping acquit guilty people. It felt wrong, but I used the magatama to determine a client's innocence before I took them on.

Once I had confirmation that they were innocent, I figured that there had to be some evidence that would exonerate them even if I had to dig and dig to find it. I took on three defense clients that month and won all three trials. I still only had four wins under my belt, but that was enough to build me up and keep the business stable. I wasn't flush, but I was surviving.

Even though I was now living in my office, and arguably working even more than I did at my old job, it brought a level of fulfillment that the other firm couldn't. I was doing the same work and yet it felt completely different. Having control over everything in my business was freeing. Seeing my last name on the sign out front filled me with accomplishment.

Starting this new firm was still bittersweet in some ways though, seeing "& Co." where there should have been another last name. He should have been here with me, picking out furniture and developing the business plan. Between the two of us, I probably wouldn't have to live in the office either. When he woke up though, I decided that his new nickname would be "& Co." and I would tease him about maybe adding his name to the door, if he had earned it.

The flexibility was also important as Maria died of her cancer. I was able to keep her company during some of her medical appointments and got to see her today; the day we knew she had no time left. It was Thursday, but as my own boss, I closed the firm down and took the day off.

Maria was the youngest of four girls. Diego had told me that his grandfather had died when he was 16 and his grandmother had died when he was 22, but his three aunts were all back home in the Dominican. None of his aunts had a lot of money though, so he hadn't seen them since the two funerals. They weren't able to fly to Japanifornia very often and sometimes Maria had to send them money to help.

When they heard about Diego, they couldn't make arrangements to see him in time, the week he entered the hospital. Once he had stabilized, they said they would visit when they could. When they found out about Maria's cancer, they finally made a trip up about a month ago, staying at her place the whole time. Maria entered the hospital around the same time, so they were able to visit both of them.

There were a lot of people around today, between her three sisters, the medical staff, me, and Maria's nursing colleagues and friends, all making visits to say goodbye. The unit had a visiting room with couches where family and friends could sit, and Maria sent everyone there this morning as she wanted to meet one-on-one with everyone while she was still able to speak.

When my turn was up, her third oldest sister returning to the visiting room and directing me to Maria's room, I nervously walked in and sat down in the chair beside her.

"Thank you for being here today," she said warmly. "I know how busy you've been with the new firm."

"Of course," I said. "No matter what, I would have found a way to be here."

She smiled. "I don't know how many more hours I have. I've seen this before with my patients. I'll get right to the point." She grabbed an envelope on her bedside table and handed it to me. "This is for you. Well, it's for Diego," she clarified. "I want you to hold onto it for him."

"What is it?"

"It's about his father."

"Oh. Should I open it?" I asked. She nodded.

The envelope wasn't sealed, and I opened it and removed its contents. Inside was a four-page letter, handwritten in Spanish with perfect cursive. I couldn't understand it, of course, so I set it aside, but there was also a faded newspaper clipping and several photographs inside.

Some of the photos were childhood ones, depicting a mother and a boy, all in black and white. The more intriguing ones were of Maria, a 20-something version of her, standing next to a man much taller than her. They were both radiating with happiness as they stood and smiled in front of various tropical locales. Diego looked like both of them, but he mostly looked like his father, having the same height and build, many of the same features, and the same cheeky grin.

Then I looked at the newspaper clipping, an obituary featuring the same man. Jackson Myers: March 11th, 1955 – February 5th, 1985. It said that he died in a car accident.

"His dad died?"

She nodded again. "Yes. Before he was even born."

"You knew this whole time?" I asked disappointedly. Diego said that he hated his dad, but he still wanted to find him and confront him some day. I didn't want to believe that she'd keep this secret from him.

She shook her head. "I only found out less than a year ago, after Diego ended up in the hospital. When his poisoning was reported in the news, his grandmother, his dad's mom, saw it. She looked at his picture and knew it had to be her grandson."

"She knew about you two? Why didn't she reach out."

She laughed bitterly. "She was angry at me. Jack had taken a second job to make extra money for me and Diego. We were supposed to move here and live with him."

"Why would that upset her?"

"We think he had the same rare and unusual condition as Diego. Can't process caffeine. He overworked himself and fell asleep at the wheel." She sighed. "His mom thought I got pregnant on purpose so I could use him for a green card."

"That's awful," I said sympathetically. I guess my fears of Diego falling asleep at the wheel weren't unfounded. He managed his exhaustion levels well for someone who worked so much but, some days, he really had trouble keeping his eyes open.

"Yes, but we've put it behind us," she said matter-of-factly. "I've met with her a couple of times and she's apologized. She's visited him and said that she'd like to get to know him when he wakes up."

"You're a bigger person than me. I'd have a hard time forgiving that."

"Well, you know mothers-in-law. They aren't supposed to like their son's partners," she said jokingly, giving me a wink.

I grinned. Maria scared me when I first got to know her, but I consider us to have a good relationship now. "How did you and his dad meet, if you don't mind me asking? Diego didn't know all the details."

Her face lit up. "I was working at a resort back home. He was a guest there. He was handsome, but he wasn't who I thought was my type. He was..." She paused to think. "What do the Mexicans say? A gringo?"

I laughed. "You would know more than me, but I think that's right."

"Maybe that's rude to say. I don't mean it that way."

"Don't worry about it," I reassured her. "I'm half gringo and I'm not offended."

"Your dad too?"

I nodded. "He was Irish-American. From Boston originally."

"I didn't know."

"Well, he's been gone 15 years. Gave us the Irish goodbye too," I said sarcastically. "Anyway," I said, waving it off. "You were saying?"

I didn't want to go into detail with Maria, but sometimes I wondered if I was unfair to Dad, for not thinking about him the way I did Mom. When I was younger, the two years between him leaving and Mom leaving felt so significant. The older I got, the less significant it seemed.

He had been a good dad too, before he left. He played catch with me and taught me how to ride a bike. He used to read me stories and do all the funny voices. He took me to see movies and out to eat. He was less strict than Mom too.

He was a lost soul though. Back when California seceded from the US in the late 70s, he had decided to move here. He was 18 and wanted to make a big change and live far away from his big and dysfunctional family. Then he got trapped.

The US had originally stated that they'd grant flexible citizenship to Californians, but they took the promise back a few months before the secession became permanent. They wanted to punish the state for leaving.

People panicked as they had to decide which country they would choose. Dad chose California, but quickly regretted it, until nine years later when he met Mom. He was 27 and she was 18, but she was wise beyond her years, beautiful, and mysterious.

He had no idea what he was in for when he married into her family and moved to the Village, but he took the leap. He was looking for someone to save him and she was looking for a man who knew absolutely nothing about her rigid, matriarchal society. They had me shortly after.

He played the role well for a few years, but the novelty wore off and being effectively useless started to get to him. Mom told me, and I wish she hadn't because I could never unhear it, that they had Maya in a last-ditch effort to save the marriage. It didn't work.

In the mid-90s, the US loosened its restrictions on citizenship. By that time, California had been unified with Japan and had suffered a horrible and long-lasting recession. The US didn't feel the need to punish us anymore. Two months after Maya was born, Dad left, presumably to go back to Boston.

I didn't know where he went for sure until six months ago, when I finally had the nerve to look him up on social media. He was remarried, the breadwinner, and had two boys. My half-brothers. He was living the exact opposite life he had with us and Mom.

Mom's reason for leaving was flimsy, but I accepted it more than his reason. When she was disgraced, everyone in the Village was angry with her. Our two sources of income were channeling and the selling of our wares and no one had faith in our channeling abilities after that case, it taking years for our reputation to recover.

Her shame became even worse when other villagers pointed out how Aunt Morgan was originally supposed to be the Master. Mom got the title right after my grandmother died and failed to live up to it almost immediately.

Dad's reason? He just wanted to feel like a man. He somehow didn't realize that leaving and never coming back, never even trying to connect the two halves of his life, made him less of one.

When Mom left, she wrote a heartfelt note and gave me my birthday gift early. When Dad left, he did nothing, leaving without a word.

"I was sitting in the resort's bar, having dinner after my shift, and he was there too," Maria continued. "He greeted me in nearly perfect Spanish. I wasn't expecting it. He was wearing a nice suit and said he needed the language for work." She smiled. "We got along really well and saw each other all the time the rest of his trip. He even stayed an extra week just to see me."

I smiled back. "I don't mean to pry, but if he was a businessman staying at a fancy resort, why did he need the second job?"

"He wasn't wealthy and didn't make much. He actually learned the language growing up in a low-income area with many Spanish speakers. He worked for a fruit distribution company. He would negotiate prices and shipments and sometimes they would send him to tropical countries to meet with suppliers. His company had given him money to pay for cheap hotels during his business trip, but he used all his savings to pay for a nicer resort and to cover an extra week."

I shook my head in disbelief. "I can't believe that he was dead this whole time, and you both had no idea."

"I know," she agreed. "It makes sense now. I really thought we were in love. He and I talked on the phone every day until we didn't. It was before computers though. I didn't know he died, and the obituary didn't get posted online. I had looked before." She smiled again. "I'm sad that he's dead, but I'm happy to know he was a good man after all."

"It sounds like he cared a lot about both of you," I said.

"He did. I wish he had told me about his money issues though," she said sternly. "We didn't need much. I didn't care about that."

"I know how you feel," I said, my voice faltering.

She looked at me solemnly. "That reminds me. There is one more thing I wanted to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

She laughed. "Diego has always been so precious to me. I never thought any woman would be good enough for him. He only brought a couple girls over before you and I hated them both. I wasn't afraid to tell them that too. When he told me about you and I listened to him gush on and on, I was ready to hate you too. But I always liked you."

"Why was that?" I asked skeptically. I was flattered but didn't remember doing anything exceptional on that first visit.

"I could see myself and Jack in both of you. The laughter and affection. It was real and he was right."

"He was," I said, trying to hold back tears. "I wish I wasn't so stupid and had realized earlier."

"No one would doubt your commitment," she reassured me. "You stepped up after the poisoning and with my condition."

"I couldn't do anything less," I said.

"Yes, you could have." She paused and took a deep breath. "It's really hard for me to say this. I don't want you to end up bitter like I was. I spent my whole life hating Diego's father and swore off men. I was wrong the whole time."

"What are you saying?" I asked alarmingly. I think I already knew, but I couldn't believe it.

"You're beautiful, smart, and successful. You have your whole life ahead of you. Diego may never wake up and I don't want you to waste your whole life waiting."

I shook my head furiously. "Maria, I could never..."

She cut me off. "This isn't a test. I mean it. There was one time, I could have been happy again. This lawyer who helped us emigrate, we were both widowed and I didn't know it then. I thought he was interested in me, but he was so proper. He wouldn't ask unless I showed enough interest. I was still so angry; I wouldn't entertain the idea. He was younger than me too, and I was traditional and didn't like that. Then he died and I regretted it."

Another bombshell. Miles Edgeworth and Diego could have been stepbrothers. I wonder how that would have changed everything. "Maria," I said softly. "I'm sorry things turned out this way, but Diego isn't dead." I held up my left hand and showed her the engagement ring. "If he was awake, we would have gotten married."

"Yes, but..."

I cut her off. "I know. We didn't. If we had, we would have made vows. In sickness and in health. Until death. I haven't given up on him," I said determinedly.

She wiped some tears from her eyes. "Wow." She shook her head. "You're a beautiful person. Inside and out."

"Thank you." I teared up too. "Do you really not think he'll wake up?" I asked tentatively. It had been over a year now, and I was losing hope, but I wanted to believe it.

"I don't know," she said shortly. "If there was a God, he would have woken Diego up by now. He would have let me say goodbye to him." Her voice was shaky, and she started crying harder.

Seeing her so broken made me cry. Her crisis of faith shocked me too. It wasn't what I believed, but it was always so important to her. She can't give up on it right before she dies.

I didn't know if she'd believe me, but I had to reassure her. "Maria. I never mentioned this because I didn't want to upset you, but I come from a family of mediums."

"I know," she replied.

"You know?"

"That lawyer who died, your mom was involved?"

"She was. So, do you think it's nonsensical?" I asked.

She paused. "I used to. Now I don't know. I trust you, so it makes me wonder."

"Maybe this will be hard to believe, but we have channeled spirits before. I've done it and I've seen it. There is something after death," I insisted.

"What is it?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. The spirits we've channeled, they haven't rested. They are in a... a purgatory, I guess. Once they rest, they go somewhere else to be at peace."

She nodded silently.

"Diego, his soul hasn't left his body yet. He's still here. I tried to channel him, just in case, but I couldn't. When you die though, you'll get to see him again. Some day. In the Twilight Realm, as we call it. It's goodbye for now, not forever," I said, smiling reassuringly.

She nodded tearfully. "I pray to God that you are right."