Emma’s Point of View
The taste of tequila still clung bitterly to my lips as I swirled the last remnants of my drink in the glass. The dim bar lights flickered, casting shadows over the room that matched the darkness in my chest. I didn’t belong here, my elegant blouse now wrinkled and stained, my makeup smudged from crying. But I didn’t care.
“Another,” I slurred, sliding my empty glass toward the bartender.
“Lady, you’ve had enough,” he replied, crossing his arms.
My laugh was humorless. “Enough? Oh, sweetheart, I’ve never had enough.” I slammed my hand on the counter. “Pour the damn drink.”
He sighed but complied, and as I took another gulp, the memories I’d tried to drown surfaced once more. Adrian. Celia. That smug smile on her face when she announced she was pregnant with his ch
