In the picture, Eugene looked genuinely happy, one arm around his lovely young wife. Beside them stood a school-age girl who looked remarkably like him, and in Katie’s arms was a chubby baby. The caption read: “Renowned surgeon Dr. Eugene Nichols with his wife Katie and their daughters.”
Olivia stared at the familiar face of her former husband and understood, with a rush of bitterness, that he was truly happy without her. There was pride in his eyes. Gratitude. Peace.
She tore the page into pieces, tossed back half a glass of whiskey, and muttered into the empty room, “That could have been my life.”
“If I hadn’t been so selfish. If I hadn’t lived on those pills and treated Gene like a bore. I had it, and I threw it away.”
“Now I’m just an aging woman drinking alone in a nice apartment, with plenty of money and nothing that matters.”
