Popping the small tablet in my mouth, I make a note of the time.
In an hour, I’ll pour myself a Friday night martini, but thanks to the effects of the medication, I’ll only drink one before happily stopping and having an early night.
Just six months ago, my evening would’ve looked very different.
I’d have polished off two bottles of wine and several beers before moving on to gin, testing my husband’s patience by rambling repetitive nonsense at him until I passed out.
Worse still, I’d wake up the next
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