She didn’t even know my name.
I was just another woman sitting on a courtroom bench, clutching a stack of documents like they were armor, holding that stack of carefully organized documents like my life depended on them—because at one point, it had. My hands trembled, but not from fear anymore—this time it was adrenaline. I had left him after two years, but the fight wasn’t over. He dragged the divorce out for every excruciating minute of the mandatory waiting period, determined to keep control even from a distance. But I’d broken free. My ex-husband was finally being prosecuted for the domestic violence he tried so hard to keep hidden behind closed doors. And I was ready to make sure the truth wasn’t buried and I had my receipts—literal ones. Police reports, photographs, timestamps, call logs. I’d spent a long time silenced, but now I had the proof, and I was going to be heard.
The Assistant District Attorney glanced at the files in my lap while we waited for the judge to arrive. She had that aura about her—sharp, calm, no-nonsense, like a lighthouse in the middle of legal chaos. She looked like the type of woman who didn’t flinch at chaos. Confident. Composed. Her presence said, You’re safe now.
“You’re really organized,” she said, glancing at the papers in my lap. “You’d be good at this.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “At… law?”
She smiled. “It’s never too late.”
Those four words cracked something wide open in me. It was such a simple phrase. But it hit me like a verdict I’d waited my whole life to hear. No one had ever told me that I could—not like that, not with that kind of confidence. Not as if it was obvious. Not like the chaos I’d escaped didn’t define me. Like I was more than the sum of the bruises and broken bones. Like I could build something now that I wasn’t just surviving.
I told her I’d always wanted to be a lawyer, but life—he—got in the way.
“Well,” she said, brushing an invisible wrinkle from her blazer, “he’s not in the way anymore, is he?”
And just like that, a stranger handed me my future in a two-minute courtroom hallway conversation. No fanfare. No grand gestures. Just a woman doing her job, seeing another woman, and saying exactly what she needed to hear.
That moment didn’t just spark a new dream—it gave me permission to chase it.
My entire paralegal career, all those clients I have helped, all those cases I’d researched and handled, all the friendships that I’ve built are the result of that encounter. And everything you see here? Voguegenics, V’Empower, the books, the blog, the platform—none of it would exist without that conversation. Without her. Without those two minutes.
So yes, I believe in random encounters and divine timing. I believe the power of women who lift each other up in the most unexpected places, who show up and speak life into you, even when they don’t have to. And I believe that sometimes, the most important chapters of our stories begin in the moments that seem the smallest. I’m living proof that sometimes, the smallest conversations have the power to rewrite your whole story.
I’ve had clients call me their legal angel, but that day, that woman was mine.
Want to learn more about how Voguegenics supports survivors and helps women rise?
Explore V’Empower, the coaching and empowerment arm of Voguegenics.
Remember: You’re never too late. You’re right on time.
P.S.
Finally getting over everything I’d been through is what made room for something real—someone real. That’s when I met my now-husband, Derek—the love of my life. He’s proof that not all men are like that. That safe can feel like butterflies. That love doesn’t have to come with bruises, apologies, or fear. Just peace. And a whole lot of NASCAR…………
Share this:
Discover more from Voguegenics: Where Style, Sass, and Life Hacks Collide
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
