I unhook my unapologetically maternal bra and watch my nipples leak. Small see-through white droplets drip down to the floor; my body weeps after Button. Like a busted faucet, it’s unstoppable and uncontrollable. I avoid my nudity in the mirror. I don’t need a reflection to show me that my stomach is still stretched after Button’s departure. The line that goes from my belly to my vagina is still long and dark, showing a path that makes little sense to me now.
