And then I see them. My pristine squares of paper have been pulled apart, crumpled into two uneven stacks. And… Is that one torn? The red that usually spots the edge of my sight flares bright across my vision. He freezes, just for a second, but I use that second to grab the notes out of his hands. First Man recovers quickly, reaching for the pistol he holstered. Accepting they’re already damaged and needing to keep them close, I shove the Post-its into my mouth and bite down, holding them there as they protrude from my lips like a mouthful of hay.
I N S A N I T Y. I may need to divorce my husband for this man 😭
