I rolled over pulling the couch pillow with me, a shield against the morning that had come too quickly. I didn’t dare look around. I didn’t want to know whether I had brought any of it home with me. The fact that I was curled up on the couch at least suggested I hadn’t brought anyONE home with me.

What had I been thinking? I should have never put down my book. If I’d just kept reading I wouldn’t have any reason to dread opening my eyes this morning. I would be curled up in my flannel PJs, most likely in bed, fast asleep, protected by my blackout curtains. Instead, my legs are sweating in faux leopard pants and my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth, the taste of red wine a reminder that I know why I can’t remember how I made it home last night.

A box topples to the floor in the kitchen and I second guess my earlier assumption that I made it home alone, then I remember Clarissa’s cat Millie is staying with me.

What will I tell her. How do you tell your best friend you slept with their ex-husband? How do you tell someone you’re the reason their husband left? I couldn’t figure out that one, so maybe I’ll be able to get out of telling her this one too?

I didn’t know it was him when I picked up the phone in the middle of Chapter 7. I’d been sure to delete his name from my contacts when it all came crashing down in the spring. I thought maybe Clarissa was checking in on Millie, but no, I recognized his voice instantly.

“Lina, I miss you,” there was sincere grief in Frank’s voice.