“You’re going to ask me about my ex-husband.” She eyed me over the rim of her martini glass. “It’s alright. Everybody does. He always said we were made for each other. It was charming at first, but before long he turned into his father. He was so wounded by being outcast, that he didn’t know how to be loved. So I left.”
“But that isn’t the whole story, is it?” I asked.
“That’s the thing about stories. Some end where others begin. And you can only stay a bride for so long. To the Frankensteins, darling.” We clinked glasses.