Sari never used to drink alone.It was a rule she’d made for herself back in med school, one of those boundaries that kept her from unraveling after 36-hour shifts. But rules had been slipping lately, one by one, like buttons on a too-tight shirt.
The first glass of wine was meant to help her sleep. The second was to quiet her mind. By the third, she stopped pretending it was for anything other than surviving the noise in her head.
The clinic was hanging by a thread. The lawsuit was bleeding her dry. Her father’s recovery, though steady, came with new fears, what if the stress sent him back to the ER again?And the mediation was now only two days away.
She took another sip. The wine burned less than it should have.
The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of her la
