I could just leave, she thought, they probably wouldn’t even miss me. Elbows deep in dish suds she glanced into the living room to find her husband snoring like a badly tuned carburetor. Her daughter was likely locked in her room watching or listening to god-knows-what.
Italy. Like Under the Tuscan Sun only without the manhunt. She had one of those. What she needed was a gorgeous dress, a sidewalk cafe, and a glass of wine. Cliche as hell, but they had the money. That was actually the easy part. Not so easy was explaining why. To them and to herself.