‘He had a bad day!’ I say. ‘That’s what happens when your wife dies and leaves you with two fucked-up kids to raise. And when you have a bad day, you share it with your person. That’s what relationships are for.’ Oh, fuck. They both stare at me, and with good reason, because I called myself his person, and I used the R-word. Dear God, have I lost all self-respect? I glare at them both and tip the remainder of my wine down my throat before holding out my glass. ‘Refill. Please.’
