Life had scattered us across different – cities.
Jobs.
Marriages.
Children.
Divorces.
Somehow, every conversation began with, « Do you remember when…? »
By six o’clock, the kitchen smelled like garlic, grilled chicken, and fresh bread.
Music drifted softly through the house.
Someone opened a second bottle of wine. For the first time in weeks, I felt relaxed.
Stasy wandered into the kitchen wearing jean shorts and an oversized sweatshirt she’d stolen from me months earlier.
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