Alison laughed quietly, watching the wine cascade over the elegantly-set table and onto the floor. Red wine, beige carpet. Perfect. Her white dress ruined. Perfect. She couldn’t move. Wouldn’t let Max rush around trying to fix something, trying to clean another of his messes. None of it mattered. This was as good an end to their marriage as any. She’d thought they had another year or so in them, but no. She could see it clearly, even if Max was still choosing denial. She shifted her wine-damp thighs and curled her toes.