Stella watched him sitting in his office, a glass in his hand. He wasn't one to drink often, but she knew about the bottle of scotch he kept locked in the bottom drawer of his desk. They all had days when they needed a drink to numb the pain.
Leaning against the doorframe, she finally spoke. "You know what they say about drinking alone."
He didn't even turn around; he simply kept his eyes locked on the city outside. "No one to drink with."
She couldn't quite explain it, but his words cut her deeply. A weight settled on her chest, and she found herself fighting back tears. Standing up straight, she turned to leave.
"You've never had to drink alone, Mac," she said quietly.
And then she was gone.