I am twenty-seven years old now. I still work at the firm. Carmen Delgado is, quietly, my mentor. We have lunch every six weeks. My mother keeps the folder in a fireproof safe in her house, in case Anthony's lawyer ever tries to come back at me, which Carmen says is unlikely but possible. I think about Anthony sometimes. I think about his crying in his office. I think about the daughter, who is real — I Googled her once — and who is eleven years old and does not know why her father no longer has a job. I feel bad for that daughter. I do not feel bad for Anthony.

Because here is the thing nobody told me, which I will tell you: the tears of a man who has spent six months harassing a woman and only started crying when the folder opened are not, actually, tears of remorse. They are tears of consequence. And I refuse — I absolutely refuse — to feel guilty for being the consequence. So tell me — was walking out of his office the right thing to do, or was I cruel to a man with a family?

* Story inspired by real-life situations. Names and details have been changed for privacy.