“It doesn’t make logical sense. But this is a man we’re talking about. Well, Harold, anyway. The bottom line is you can’t blame yourself because this isn’t about you. It’s about him. When a man goes grasping at everything but his wife to solve his problems, there’s nothing left but the fallout.”

Marina shook her head. Her marriage was over. She’d had an inkling that was the case for a while—the veneers, the new sporty Mercedes, refusing to eat bread any longer—but with Avery getting ready to leave, she’d stuffed everything into a closet and ignored it. Now, apparently, the closet door had burst open and all the pretending she’d been doing had bitch-slapped her right in the face.

It was time for a come-to-Jesus. She was forty-eight years old and had a lackluster career, a high-maintenance daughter, a crazy mother, and a husband who’d just made her the biggest fool in town—no easy task.

Her midlife crisis had officially begun.

Chapter Three

Marina groaned and pulled the covers over her head as the sunlight hit her face. Why hadn’t she remembered to close the shades the night before?

Because you were stinking drunk, that’s why.

She needed to add drinking like a sailor along with talking like a sailor to her sister’s list of talents. And Halcyon definitely knew how to bring someone along for the ride. Marina had no idea how many times her sister had refilled her glass. She’d lost count—and complete feeling in her face—around midnight.

Figuring there was no way she was getting back to sleep at that point, she threw back the covers, her mind already racing with the multitude of things she needed to do, decisions she needed to make. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and popped upright, then grabbed her head and groaned. The room started to spin, and she drew in a deep breath and slowly blew it out.

She was too old for this shit.

But then, she was too old for a lot of shit she was about to face…being broke, being homeless, being single on national holidays. It was as though she was twenty years old all over again, except with forty extra pounds, wrinkles, and too many gray hairs to count. She even had the high school hangover to go along with the rest of the list of undesirable things in her life.

She pushed herself off the bed and staggered into the bathroom, almost afraid to look at herself in the mirror. The night before, when she’d changed clothes, she’d realized just how big and dark the circles under her eyes were. How puffy and loose the skin was when she poked at it. How had she failed to notice this? She looked as if she’d been ill for a long time. This morning, she was probably going to look as if she’d rolled over and died.

Quite frankly, she still wasn’t convinced she hadn’t.

“Think positive,” she said out loud. “If your reflection doesn’t appear, you’re either dead or a vampire.”