Published: June 17th 2025, 2:53:07 pm
It started as a shadow, soft and quiet, curling through the cracks of my routine—
the way his eyes lingered too long, the way my breath caught when they did. I told myself it was harmless, a flicker of something I’d forgotten I could feel. But as the days wore on, the fantasy bloomed like a bruise, tender and aching. I found myself imagining his hands instead of my husband’s, tracing lines I hadn’t let myself remember wanting. It wasn’t love, not exactly. It was hunger—sharp, illicit, and impossible to feed.
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