There Was No Seat for Me at the Luxury Restaurant. By Dessert, They Regretted It

building since the marble floor of Elmeander.

“I’m tired,” I said.

“Tired of what?” he asked, and something in the directness of the question — no softening, no preemptive sympathy — loosened something in me.

The true answer slipped out before I’d decided to give it.

“Tired of being treated like a mistake,” I said. “Like everything I’ve chosen is evidence continue reading …