Amelia was in the bar.
The bar was alive with flashing lights and pounding music. Amelia sat slumped over the counter, downing drink after drink.
"Another one," she demanded, pushing her empty glass toward the bartender. "Make it the strongest!"
Her loud voice drew cheers from the men around her.
Amelia wasn't a stranger to alcohol. She'd often drunk so much at business gatherings that she ended up with stomach bleeding. However, every time she came home feeling unwell, her husband Joseph was already fast asleep, never asking her how she felt.
It had been a long time since she'd let herself be numbed by alcohol.
In a dim corner of the bar, Marn pushed Clay's wheelchair to a stop. "Mr. Kingsley, Amelia is over there."
Clay easily spotted her among the crowd.
She wore a simple white
