“She could sleep alone now; that didn’t sound like much. Certainly millions of women did it every night, but to her, a woman who’d slept with the same man for all of her adult life, it was something. She was no longer afraid to eat out alone. Yesterday, she’d had breakfast at the Wild Rose, all by herself. She even tried tofu. Today, she was determined to try painting again. She grabbed her down coat off the hook by the front door and reached for the black canvas bag that held her painting suppl...ies. She kept it filled with charcoal and paper, paint and brushes, and hope. Outside, the air was crisp and cold. She crossed the porch and paused at the top of the stairs. The ocean was a smear of pastel gray and lavender. The grass in her yard looked like a patch of Christmas felt, tacked down here and there by the snow-white mushrooms that had sprouted overnight. A pair of cormorants flew overhead, circling lazily. She flipped her hood up and walked across the squishy carpet of lawn, trying to avoid the pretty mushrooms.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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