“I do love you more,” I choked out, feeling my soul crack in half as I reeled in the unimaginable fucking horror of what I’d done to her. “You are enough for me.” “No, I’m not.” “Yes, you are.” Blowing out a pained breath, I added, “I don’t want to be the way I am. I don’t fucking love what I do. I despise it.” “Then why do it?” she begged, trembling in my arms. “Why?” She was asking me to give her the answer to something I couldn’t explain.
