Leaving the office, I felt the weight of the folder in my bag, a physical reminder of the burden I now carried. The corridors outside seemed endless, each step echoing my uncertainty. I needed advice, someone to help me see through the fog of legal jargon and exorbitant fees.
Outside, the city bustled with its usual energy, people going about their lives, unaware of the turmoil brewing within me. I found a nearby café, hoping a quiet corner and a strong cup of coffee might help clear my mind.
As I sipped the bitter brew, I pulled out my phone, scrolling through contacts. I paused at a name—Sarah, an old college friend who had recently passed the bar. We hadn’t spoken in ages, but maybe she could offer some insight.
I hesitated, thumb hovering over the call button. Would she remember me? Would she even want to help? But desperation nudged me forward, and I pressed the button, listening to the dial tone with a mix of hope and dread.
« Hello? » Sarah’s voice crackled through the line, familiar yet distant.
« Sarah, it’s me, » I began, trying to inject warmth into my voice. « I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time. »
There was a pause, then a laugh. « Wow, it’s been ages! What’s up? »
Relief washed over me at her friendliness. « I need some advice, » I admitted, launching into a brief summary of my situation.
She listened patiently, occasionally murmuring in understanding. « Look, » she said finally, « I’m not an expert in estate law, but I can take a look at the documents. Maybe there’s something we can contest. »
Hope sparked within me. « That would be amazing, Sarah. Thank you. »
« No problem, » she replied. « Send them over, and we’ll figure it out together. »
As I ended the call, a weight lifted slightly. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a step forward—a lifeline in the murky waters I found myself navigating.
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