In the days that followed, Justine was haunted by it. It imprisoned her heart, suffusing her life’s blood with torment, loneliness, frustration. It permeated her every activity—followed her to work, then home, to dinner or lunch or sleep. Even the thought of the child she carried was no solace; for, to her surprise, there was still little sign of her pregnancy. She was as slim, perhaps slimmer, than ever; somehow, the pregnancy seemed unreal, a hoax. The results of her weeks as a member of the CORE International team were dutifully passed on to Phillip Marsh, the lawyer designated as her replacement. Much as she knew that the transfer was for the best, the psychological separation was but one other thorn in her side. In the firm’s understanding, thanks to Sloane’s diplomacy, she had withdrawn from the case for valid logistical reasons, mostly pertaining to her own work and its demands. None of her colleagues knew the truth. “Well, Justine,” John Doucette welcomed her back to the office when she finally showed up several days after the return from Alaska, “how did it go?”
