THE LAWYER

Nine months earlier…

I was sitting on the balcony of my new house, in the arms of someone I never loved as much as I loved him. I kept thinking about how many things had changed so suddenly in my life.

My suitcase was already packed with clothes—shirts, jeans, skirts, office outfits, jackets. It was a cold November morning, unusually cold for Crete. At 7:30 a.m., I had only a few hours left before my flight at one o’clock.

Still in my pajamas—long satin ones with little red hearts, a gift from my older sister Ioanna on my seventeenth birthday—I padded downstairs in my fluffy white slippers. Eight years later, and they still felt like comfort.

In the kitchen, I found my mother sitting at the table with her coffee and a croissant, scrolling through her phone. I walked past her, poured myself a cup of the French coffee she had brewed earlier, and sat down beside her.

She put her phone aside, looked at me, held my hand, and smiled.

— “So, how do you feel about today?” she asked.

I smiled back.

— “I’m fine… though I won’t lie, I’m a little nervous.”

She laughed softly.

— “I was nervous too, on my first day at the law firm. But you have nothing to worry about—you’re going to be amazing, and you know it.”

My mother was a lawyer, and a very successful one. I remembered watching her as a child, getting ready in the mornings in her elegant suits, dresses, low heels, and delicate jewelry. She always looked beautiful, confident.

When she worked late at home, I’d sit quietly beside her, fascinated by her focus and determination. No matter how difficult a case seemed, she always found a way to win. I grew up thinking: “I want to be just like her.” And in many ways, I did.

After four years of law school in America, I had returned to Greece. I couldn’t stay away from my family—or from my country—for too long. So I accepted my first job as a lawyer at one of the best law firms in Athens, following in my mother’s footsteps.

Back in my room, I changed into something comfortable for the flight: loose jeans, a white hoodie, sneakers, and my oversized bag. Grabbing my suitcase and headphones, I went downstairs where everyone was waiting by the door—my mother, father, and siblings.

I set my luggage aside and first hugged my little brother, my soft spot. He was only five, so I had to bend down to wrap my arms around him.

— “Take care, little one. And listen to Mom and Dad, okay?” I said, running my fingers through his brown hair.

Next came my older sister, my second mother. Just three years older, but always wiser, always ahead of me. She hugged me tightly and kissed my cheek.

— “Don’t let me down, little sister,” she teased with a smile.

Finally, I embraced my parents. My mother’s first tears slipped down her cheeks as I stepped out into the waiting taxi.

The ride to the airport took about an hour. With my playlist in my ears, I gazed out the window at the neighborhood I was leaving behind. I knew I would miss it, yet excitement bubbled inside me—I was about to begin a new chapter of my life.

And the best part? I would finally see my boyfriend, Alexandros, after so long. He lived in Athens, and for the past year we had managed a long-distance relationship. We had met in Crete during his summer holidays. He was my first love.

When I arrived at the airport, I checked in, strolled through the duty-free shops (which always felt more exciting to me than the flights themselves), and grabbed a sandwich with coffee.

Before I realized it, boarding was announced. With my bag on my shoulder and music still in my ears, I headed for the gate.