Ash wouldn’t be back until late. He’d been working longer and longer hours lately. Spending less and less time with her. Honestly, she would be surprised if it didn’t take a few days before he even noticed she was gone. Emotion welled up in her throat and tears stung her eyes. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and took a deep, calming breath. It had to be hormones because she had never been a crier. She would love to be able to blame her mother and her revolving bedroom door for this. She would like to think that she’d stayed with Ash for three years because her mother’s longest marriage—and there were five in total—barely lasted nine months. She wanted to be different from her mother, better than her, and look at the mess it had gotten her into. She looked over at the photo on the dresser of her and her mother. It was the only one Mel had of them together. She was thirteen, with the body of a ten-year-old. Scrawny, skinny and awkward, standing next to her voluptuous, beautiful mother.
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