As the Queen was speaking to her subjects on the television,
Dave was staring at the numbers on his phone, thumb hovering over the call
button.
Apart from the moments when he’d been asleep, eating, dealing
with the consequences of eating, and the time he’d been forced to interact with
Mrs Smyth two apartments over, he’d been in this position, trying to will
himself to press the button.
It had begun as her mess up, her drunken fling, but even he
could admit that he’d overreacted, and his leaving was required.
But it was the season to give.
Forgiveness, maybe?
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