by Larisa Dawn
The ride was agonizingly silent. She leafed through a magazine that she had already read three times. It would soon be her turn to drive, and she would not even have the comfort of reading. She liked to listen to the radio, but inevitably, she would start singing of which he did not approve. He wouldn’t complain, of course. That would take too much effort. He would just sit there and sigh and make those awful moans of disapproval.
He, in this case, referred to Sharon’s husband, David.
She would not have to call him that for much longer. She had her second appointment with her attorney Monday morning. She had to survive this weekend with him, and then she could go free.
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