Page 28 of Chanel's Interlude
I stared at the listing longer than I needed to, reading it twice, then a third time. The requirements weren’t out of reach. The experience I had built over the years, the cases I had handled, and the reputation I had developed all aligned.
On paper, I was more than qualified.
But it wasn’t the qualifications that made me hesitate. It was the location.
Crestwood wasn’t just a place. It was everything I had left behind. Every version of myself I had outgrown, every decision I had made trying to become something else, every memory I had learned how to quiet instead of confront. Going back meant facing all of it. Not as the girl who left. But as the woman who had to explain who she became. I sat there for a long time, my fingers resting on the keyboard, my eyes fixed on the screen. I thought about Genesis upstairs. About the life I had built here. About the version of stability I had held onto for years, even when it didn’t feel like mine.
Then I thought about what was left of it now.
A house that felt empty.
A marriage that was over.
A career that no longer aligned with why I started any of this in the first place.
I clicked “apply.”
* * *
The interview processmoved faster than I expected. I had a phone interview that same week and was asked to conduct a virtual interview next week.
I guess the Hughes family name still carried weight, even now. My experience filled in the rest. By the time I sat across from the hiring panel, I wasn’t nervous. I answered every question clearly and directly, the same way I had learned to in every courtroom I stepped into.
“What makes you want to return to Crestwood?” one of them asked.
I didn’t overthink it. “Because I understand the people here,” I said. “And I understand how the system fails them.”
There was a brief silence after that. Then a nod.
I got the call three days later. I was standing in Genesis’ room, folding her clothes, when my phone rang.
“Chanel Davis-Hughes?” the voice asked.
“Yes.”
“We’d like to offer you the position.”
I closed my eyes for a second, completely overwhelmed and in awe at this chance to start again.
I reopened my eyes and looked at the hiring team. “I accept,” I said.
Telling Genesis was easier than I thought it would be. She wasn’t coping well with the separation and was obsessed with the idea of starting over.
“We’re moving?” She asked, sitting cross-legged on her bed.
“For a little while,” I said. “We’re going to be closer to family.”
“Like Auntie Kenya?”
I smiled. “Yeah. Like Auntie Kenya.”
She nodded, already excited.
“Do they have dance classes?”
I let out a soft laugh. “They do.”
“Okay,” she said simply, already satisfied.
That night, after she went to sleep, I walked through the house one last time.
Every room held a version of me that had tried to make this life work. The woman who studied late into the night, the wife who learned how to move around in silence, the mother who built something stable out of something that never felt whole. I didn’t hate her. But I wasn’t her anymore. I paused in the bedroom doorway, looking at the empty side of the closet, the space where his things used to be.
It didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like the truth. I turned off the light and walked out.
I was choosing what felt honest, and that felt like a new beginning.
