She swirled her dirty martini, watching the lone olive drift in the glass like a tiny, defeated life raft. “So,” she said, her voice a low purr of controlled chaos, “the divorce attorney’s number is in your phone under ‘Golf Buddy.’”
“Because I’m cheaper than a private investigator?” adult comedy
Across the restaurant, a twenty-something couple broke up via Instagram DM. Marjorie felt a strange, competitive pang. She leaned forward, letting the candlelight do nefarious things to her cleavage. “I’m serious, Greg. I want the house, the dog, and the good toaster.” She swirled her dirty martini, watching the lone