Abby
Elsie and I are sprawled out on my king-sized bed, a movie playing on the TV.
But we’re barely watching. I’m trying on one of my new dresses in the mirror while Elsie is watching me, a glass of wine in her hand. For the first time in what feels like forever, I finally feel as though I can let my guard down.
At least here, in the privacy of my old bedroom, no one is gossiping. At least here, I don’t have to justify myself just for being here.
Or at least, that was what I thought.
“Abby,” Elsie says, taking a sip of her wind with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “can I ask you something?”
I raise an eyebrow, turning my attention away from the mirror. The dress I’m trying on is red and hits me mid-thigh, and it’s tight all over; Karl would have hated it when we were married. But
