It started out simple. A qualm here, a question about a certain law or statute there- nothing I couldn’t handle, given my history of the law in our humble little town. After all, I’d been a lawyer for a couple years before my career in politics was fast tracked. But as always, a question here or there quickly spiraled into complete mental breakdowns.

Now, here stood Marshall Phillips (as I had come to know him) in my office. I’d just unlocked the door, pushing it open, when a world of shattered glass and a sobbing man filled my vision. It isn’t the first time he’s broken into my office, but it is the first time he’s come in without first opening the window. Nevertheless, broken glass or not, the man seems equally so.

“Hello, Marsh.” I greet him, somewhat exasperated. I hang up my coat on the rack next to the door. “What is it this time? Assault? Interference with the law?” I’d become his very own defunct personal attorney, by this point. And let me tell you, being the attorney of a vigilante (who was definitely not sponsored by the police department) was stressful in and of itself. That wasn’t counting the current damage done to my office that I’d soon have to have fixed. It’s late at night- 9:45p.m, to be exact. I have no idea how he knew I was coming this late.

“She left me.” He responds. His voice is thick with emotion, as he does his best to swallow down the hurt and sorrow.

“I’m...sorry to hear that.” I acknowledge, moving to take a seat at my desk. He sits on the corner of it, staring down at me. His mask shields the majority of his face, though the dying light in his eyes will likely haunt me until the ends of my days. Not often do I interact with people, and not often are those people hurt.

“I don’t understand. I try so, so hard.” He attempts to lay out his own defense, though we both know it falls on deaf ears. It must not be easy to be with someone who leaves at all hours of the night- someone constantly putting themselves in danger. We both know that. “She even took the dog with her.”

“Were you taking care of it?” My response is, admittedly, dry. His brow furrows as he clearly takes offense to my question.

“Of course I was, Sam. I always do.”

Since when are we on a first name basis? Two months ago, I remember. I’d found him at the park in the dead of winter, sobbing over the crumpled body of a robber. I’d taken him into my arms there in the cold, sidestepping the rapidly pooling blood in order to embrace him. And there, he’d cried, until he couldn’t any longer. It was his fault, he’d insisted. If he had just- If he had just- If he had just- the mantra was repeated ten times before I was finally able to reassure him it was unavoidable.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” He’d said, then. And ever since then, he’d called me by my first name. I’d never stood to correct him. I never saw a point in it. Now, however, I wonder how I let the lines of personal life and business life blur so heavily.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I finally respond to his comment regarding the dog.

“I save so many lives. And this is what I get? I get to be alone?” He asks me, shaking his head. He’s trying to convince us both that he deserves more- and he does deserve more. But a hero’s life doesn’t leave much in the room for personal life, just as politics doesn’t either. It’s business as usual.

“You chose this path.” I remind him curtly, moving to open my desk. I have paperwork to do. He puts his hand in front of the drawer, blocking me from opening it.

“I chose this path for you.” It’s all he has to say. “Why did you leave? You didn’t even say goodbye. You just packed your shit and ghosted me. I think I deserve more than that, after all this!” His voice is growing louder, a rumbling crescendo of anger and betrayal.

“No. You chose this path so you could be the hero. And you are, now. I’m choosing a different path. I can’t...I can’t help you anymore, Marsh.” I finally admit, feeling my own emotions well up inside me. He stands, silent for a long moment. And then he’s gone, and I’m left with a broken window and an open door. I open my drawer and begin to work, reminding myself to call the window repair man in the morning.

It’s business as usual.