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Danielle
The last few months had been taxing, to say the least. He and Rhys had been working until the early hours of the morning, going over the Bobbin case files, trying to work out a defense for Avery. It was a daunting task, but the two solicitors worked well together - very well, actually. They had managed to come up with something that even made Donovan himself second guess things, even though he had been thumbing through evidence that proved she was guilty for weeks. Fortunately - and maybe unfortunately - they never even had the chance to present their case to the members of the Wizengamot.
In some ways, Donovan couldn't help but feel like all the stress he had been under was for nothing, but he knew that wasn't entirely true. They may not have been able to defend Avery due to a mistrial, but their hard work had paid off, in different ways.
Donovan, who had been labeled a renegade by the pureblood elitists since his parents had cut all ties with him, didn't have to worry about Bobbin supporters coming after him or his family. He had done everything he could, despite the circumstances, and there was some relief in knowing he didn't have to check over his shoulder every night.
The downside to the trial had been the effect it had taken on his personal life. He felt as though every time he stepped foot into the home he shared with Danielle, the room seemed to become colder. She had barely spoken to him unless they were around the kids, and while he could understand why she was upset, it was starting to wear him down.
That evening, after putting Cole and Amelia to bed, he walked into the bedroom he shared with his wife, dropping himself down onto the foot of the mattress. She was still in the bathroom, finishing her evening routine before bed. He leaned forward, his elbows resting against his thighs, his fingers lacing together , staring down at the carpet as he chewed at the corner of his lip. When he heard the faucet turn off in the other room, he took in a deep breath, bracing himself. When she finally appeared in the doorway, his stormy blue eyes traveled up to her.
"You and I need to talk."
It was a general statement, but there was an underlying specificity to it.
In some ways, Donovan couldn't help but feel like all the stress he had been under was for nothing, but he knew that wasn't entirely true. They may not have been able to defend Avery due to a mistrial, but their hard work had paid off, in different ways.
Donovan, who had been labeled a renegade by the pureblood elitists since his parents had cut all ties with him, didn't have to worry about Bobbin supporters coming after him or his family. He had done everything he could, despite the circumstances, and there was some relief in knowing he didn't have to check over his shoulder every night.
The downside to the trial had been the effect it had taken on his personal life. He felt as though every time he stepped foot into the home he shared with Danielle, the room seemed to become colder. She had barely spoken to him unless they were around the kids, and while he could understand why she was upset, it was starting to wear him down.
That evening, after putting Cole and Amelia to bed, he walked into the bedroom he shared with his wife, dropping himself down onto the foot of the mattress. She was still in the bathroom, finishing her evening routine before bed. He leaned forward, his elbows resting against his thighs, his fingers lacing together , staring down at the carpet as he chewed at the corner of his lip. When he heard the faucet turn off in the other room, he took in a deep breath, bracing himself. When she finally appeared in the doorway, his stormy blue eyes traveled up to her.
"You and I need to talk."
It was a general statement, but there was an underlying specificity to it.
