The apartment was small—a studio with a pullout couch and a window that faced a brick wall. But it was theirs. Ashley had finally left in April. The divorce was finalized in September.
Ashley poured two fingers of bourbon into a crystal glass. She didn’t usually drink alone on Christmas Eve, but her husband had taken a last-minute business trip to London—a lie so transparent it didn't even sting anymore. The lie was the gift: permission to be alone.
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