George

I pull the car up to the villa, staring at the front gates as they slide shut behind me. The engine dies beneath my hands, and for a moment, I just sit there, gripping the wheel, feeling the weight of the day press down on my chest.

"One day at a time, George," I whisper, but the words sound hollow, even to me. It's not the long days at work that exhaust me, it's coming home. Home isn't a place of peace anymore—it's become a battlefield, and I'm not ...