The Last Devil to Die (Thursday Murder Club, #4)

by Richard Osman

I hope she finds him somewhere nearby, where she can visit often. The two of them will have talked it through, as much as they are able. Love always finds a language. Elizabeth hasn’t come to ask me for help or advice, and I understand that completely. I know from experience that grief rides alone. I cannot begin to imagine what Elizabeth is going through. Perhaps she feels that Stephen has already left. Perhaps that is where they are. It’s between the two of them, and all I know is that I will be there for her. That’s all I have to give. They say that time softens the pain, but that’s a fairy tale. Who would ever love again if anyone actually told the truth? I’m afraid there are some days when I could still rip out my own heart and weep myself hollow for Gerry. Some days? Every day. That’s the journey my best friend has just begun. So forgive me if, for just a while longer, I choose to imagine that Elizabeth is going to the Palace to see the King.

That’s why Chat GPT has been such a godsend. After writing an email, a text, anything really, you can simply run the whole thing through Chat GPT, and it instantly deletes your personality. It flattens you out, irons your creases, washes you away, quirk by quirk, until you disappear.