“I need to know if what I’m feeling is real, or if I’m imagining it. Please. Help me understand,” I begged, my voice saturated with thirteen years of guilt and longing for this man. “Of course it’s real.” The tight strain of his jaw became more prominent. “It’s so real I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a very long time.” “What’s that?” I asked, breathless. He angled his head while tightening his hold of my hands, and the words came out slow, firm, and deliberate: “Lose my control.”
