The Perfect Wife Walked Away
It was a photo of their family, with Alice holding Camilla, smiling happily.
I stretched out my hand, my fingernail lightly scratching Alice’s face in the photo.
“Don’t blame me,” I whispered to the empty room, a triumphant smile curving the corners of my mouth. “It’s you who won’t lower your sights, who insists on holding that inaccessible soul so high. But a man like David doesn’t need a soul standing shoulder to shoulder with him, but rather, a bed that can make him feel ‘strong.’”