TWENTY-TWO
Eleanor stifled yet another yawn as she poured the last of the second bottle of wine into her glass. The taste barely registered anymore, but the satisfaction of drinking the most expensive wines she could find in the house lingered. She had taken great pleasure in Googling their worth—her little act of rebellion against Francesco's silence. It was nearing two o'clock in the morning, and Francesco still hadn't answered her calls or texts. The gnawing worry that had been simmering all day now bubbled to the surface, making it harder to ignore the tension in her chest. The downside of knowing what her husband did for a living was the ever-present fear that crept in when he was out of sight for too long. Not being able to reach him only made things worse. And as the hours dragged on with
- Writer
