The sun has barely made it above the horizon when I finally drag myself out of bed. I spent hours tossing and turning, Genevieve’s words playing over and over in my mind until I wanted to weep. Maybe it is my hormones, or maybe the pain in her words just permeated my subconscious, but I can’t help but empathise with the woman who tried to do the right thing on multiple occasions yet still carries the guilt of others on her shoulders.
I pad through to the kitchen, my movements sluggish with the lack of sleep. Pulling the carton of milk from the fridge I pour some into a mug before heating it up in the microwave. A couple of spoonfuls of cocoa and a sprinkle of sugar and I have my ultimate go-to comfort drink. A dash of cinnamon gives it a final twist and I take a sip, letting out a sigh be
