“My husband is the drinker, not me.”“He’s an alcoholic?” Alan says.She quickly shakes her head. “No, he drinks a glass at night or sociall.... My son often comes over to share a glass. They’re more bourbon guys though.” Then she giggles and says, “Unless it’s your goal to get me drunk before taking advantage of me.”“It certainly is!” he jokes.She laughs along with him. She takes a good, hard swallow of the water. When she sits it down it is half gone. She does the same with the scotch. “You know. I didn’t want things to stay the way they were, but I still wanted to be angry. I deserved to be angry. Something had to change. I had to change. But I didn’t know in what way or how.When I got home from work on Tuesday, there was an envelope on the kitchen table with the word “Dad” written on it in Nicole’s handwriting. I suddenly felt sick. Was this a letter telling me that she was going out on her own? Or worse. I tore open the envelope and read the simple note inside. “I know you hate me. More

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