When I walked into the kitchen, she was clutching Bray like he was air and she was suffocating. His hands were everywhere. On her ass, in her hair, which had tumbled down her back, loosened from the neat knot she always kept rolled at her nape. Her glasses lay forgotten on the floor. They made desperate, starved, craving sounds, and I understood that this was not what she had with my father.
😩😩😩
