Surrender Was the Only Honest Thing That Week
Everything else was lies by omission. Only on my knees was I telling the truth about what I wanted.
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Everything else was lies by omission. Only on my knees was I telling the truth about what I wanted.
Public account clean. Private alt has the hashtag and his face and comments from her that are not my business.
One for family group chats. One for him. The second one lives in a makeup bag I pretend is old samples.
She keeps my contact as "Pharmacy." Her husband has allergies. I have guilt and Thursdays.
Fifty dollars every Thursday. "Package delivery." My husband never asks which package.
I knew her coffee order from Instagram. I still met him at the hotel. I told myself knowledge was protection. It wasn't.
Surrender started with a text: "Trust me tonight." I typed yes like autocorrect destiny.
French from college. He's fluent. My husband thinks we're discussing wine regions at dinner parties.
Forty dollars a copay to say out loud what my marriage already knew in silence.
Sugar daddy is an ugly phrase for a man who saw me struggling and offered a door with conditions.
Zoom camera off. Cough on Slack. Door unlocked by noon.