دانلود رمان انگلیسی “به من بگو اشتباه است”

There is nothing more pathetic than a woman getting drunk at a bar alone. That’s what my husband always says—ex-husband. A hysterical cackle bursts from my lips as I finish off my glass of Riesling. How fitting that I ended up here on the day we finalized our divorce. And I do mean day. That’s definitely sunlight coming through the windows. I’ve passed this bar a hundred times on my way to the yoga studio down the street, but I’ve never been inside. Julian wouldn’t have been caught dead in a place like this, and since he owns half the other bars around here, we usually ended up at one of those. Not that we had many nights out together. I hadn’t planned on coming here. After leaving the lawyer’s office, I was driving back to the hotel I’ve been living out of these past few months. But then I remembered I’d be there alone. My son, Casey, has been staying there with me, but Liam, his half brother—who is closer to my age than his by a landslide —offered to take him for the weekend while we finalized the divorce. I hadn’t realized how much I needed that until now. I just don’t have it in me to put on the everything’s fine face today. Julian has barely been involved in his life as it is. But now? And like most seven-year-olds, Casey doesn’t know any better and worships his father. I don’t know how much longer that’ll last. Driving through town after that meeting was its own kind of torture—my ex-husband’s last name plastered on every other building. Until I came across this shabby little place. There was just something about it that drew me in today. Maybe because it reminds me of another life. The neon lights, the pool tables, the shitty cracked leather barstools—it’s the kind of place I would’ve gone before him. Before this current version of me. If past me could see me now… I let out another laugh. She’d fucking choke. The bartender sets down the cup he’d been drying when he notices my empty glass and heads over. He barely looks old enough to be in here. “Can I get you anything else?” he asks. I tap the top of my wineglass. He nods and pulls a new bottle out. His eyes flick from the glass to me as he pours. They’re nice eyes. Unique. Somehow green and brown at the same time. Is that considered hazel? “Rough day?” he asks as he slides the glass to me. I snort out a humorless laugh as I take a sip. There’s no way this poor kid wants to hear my middle-aged sob story. Is thirtytwo considered middle-aged? Everyone spent the last seven years preening over how young I was next to Julian, but now without him in comparison…