“We all do things we believe are right at the time,” Addison said quietly as she breathed in the aroma of the French Roast. “Spilt milk.”

Evelyn raised her chin just a tad, studying the woman across the counter. Addison had lost weight, weight she couldn’t afford to lose, and her expression was blank, devoid of even the smallest hint of life. Hunched over on the stool, she had yet to make eye contact with Evelyn, and when Addison had reached for her coffee, Evelyn saw her hands tremble. This was not the same woman who had marched away from The Oaks so many months before.

They sipped their coffee in silence until Evelyn thought it time to break the ice. “Fran called me yesterday.” Evelyn waited patiently for a response, but when Addison finally raised her eyes, Evelyn’s heart broke. They were bloodshot and filled with more pain than she had ever seen.

“So, you know?” Addison said in a breath.

“Yes, and to put it mildly, I was shocked. Here I thought you didn’t even remember his name.”

“I remember a lot more than that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Addison hung her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Spilt milk?”

“Something like that,” Addison mumbled.

A dozen questions came to mind, but considering the defeated woman in front of her, Evelyn took her time when deciding which to ask. “So what now? Where do you go from here?”

“I don’t know,” Addison said, looking up. “Sell this place and move somewhere...somewhere that doesn’t remind me of...that doesn’t remind me...that doesn’t...damn it!” Addison said, choking back her tears as she jumped to her feet. “Sorry, but this isn’t working, Evelyn. You need to leave. You need to leave right now!”

***

Later that afternoon, Addison emerged from the master suite after taking her second shower of the day. Before the mug of coffee Evelyn had given her had cooled, Addison had poured herself a scotch, and by noon, she had passed out on the sofa in the library only to wake up a few hours later feeling worse than she had that morning. She heard Fiona puttering in the kitchen on her way up the stairs, so when Addison came back down, she headed into the dining room for her sandwich without crust.

The bread was soft and the meat moist, yet even with a pungent cheese, her palate sensed no flavor. There was a texture, a need to chew and swallow, yet like the water she drank in hopes of repairing the effects of dehydration, the food was tasteless, but autopilot kicked in, so she ate it.