Prelude: Divorce hit me like a tidal wave. The family that I had married into was no longer mine. My ex-husband asked me to sign a prenup, and I complied happily, was so naïve, I thought we would be married forever. I had come to accept that compliance was a big part of being married to this man, and I forgave all of his behavior while clinging onto the dream of the man who seduced me, the kind, powerful, and loving man who proposed. "I want a div...
Prelude: Divorce hit me like a tidal wave. The family that I had married into was no longer mine. My ex-husband asked me to sign a prenup, and I complied happily, was so naïve, I thought we would be married forever. I had come to accept that compliance was a big part of being married to this man, and I forgave all of his behavior while clinging onto the dream of the man who seduced me, the kind, powerful, and loving man who proposed. "I want a divorce," he told me when I caught him having an affair with a woman younger than me. I was out of the house that very same night, with a $100 bill he tossed at me while I packed my suitcase. I found a cheap motel and stayed there while applying for jobs. The only thing worse than the hunger pains in my stomach, and the heart ache of what could have been was the loss of my stepsons. My ex-husband forbade me to talk to my step-sons, who I had grown to love as my own.
Things started looking up for me when a woman found me sitting at the far end of a coffee shop, filling out an application. "You're so pretty," she said to me casually, "being a barista doesn't seem to suit you." She sat down and divulged her story, she told me about her beach on the home, and she told me about how she loves the glamorous lifestyle when she stays at the taboo and infamous red hotel.
Scene 2:
I have an appointment with a man named Lucas. Lucas? The same name as my sweet step-son. The boy who my ex-husband forbade me to see, but the boy that always loved me, "I love you more than my step-mother," he would tell me as his warm eyes melted my heart.
I was shocked when I saw a handsome man walk in the door! Was it him? He was always handsome as an eighteen year old, and although he is just a year older, he still has the same boyish face I fell in love with. I was quick to apologize for myself but assure him that I was happy. I felt as though I had to explain myself, tell him that society has a terrible stigma, and that women like myself aren't "bad." He could never think of me as bad, he only wanted me, he wanted to be with me. When his hand touched my body, I felt a quiver run up my spine, my breathing slowed, wetness trickled down into my lace panties. He wanted me, and God forgive me, I wanted him as well.
