My husband shuffled in, his hair sticking out sideways, phone in his palm.
“Coffee ready?”
“You’ll have to make it,” I said.
“Rough one?”
“She was up at two, four, and five.”
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My husband shuffled in, his hair sticking out sideways, phone in his palm.
“Coffee ready?”
“You’ll have to make it,” I said.
“Rough one?”
“She was up at two, four, and five.”
I stood in the marble corridor near the private dining room at the Capital Grille in Charlotte. I arrived twelve minutes late for my…