Alex
Five f*****g hours of a hellish flight to Phoenix, during which I’ve almost finished an entire bottle of tequila while keeping my eyes on Angy and the kid.
He looks like me, goddamn it.
Or maybe that’s just what I want to believe.
How old is he? Four? If so, the timing adds up, though I can’t be sure.
The kid shifts and mutters something in his sleep, nestled in his mother’s lap as the plane finally touches down. Angy closes her eyes for a few seconds, and when she opens them again, she looks straight at me.
"Where are we?" she whispers.
I don’t answer.
I just keep staring at her, letting all the rage and hatred I feel for her show.
I want to walk up to her, wrap my hands around her neck, and squeeze until she exhales her last breath.
I take another swig from the bottle and
