A Grave at the End of Spring
Language: en
My boyfriend suffered from clinical depression. His medication and expert therapy sessions cost thousands of dollars a month. To cure him, I worked day and night, taking on freelance art commissions and running food deliveries. My friends constantly warned me I was going to work myself into an early grave. That was until one day, I snatched a delivery order for an ultra-exclusive, gated mansion community. I respectfully used both hands to hand over a $2,500 premium sushi order to the customer. When I looked up, the boyfriend who was supposed to be at his psychological counseling session…