I grab her by the shoulder and push her away. Nausea rises in my throat at the reminder of the last hug Sasha gave me. And I refuse to let anyone else take that memory. My wife loved this cheesy shit. She loved hugging me and trying to comfort me. She also loved singing and kissing. But then she left and took away her hugs, her smiles, and even her infuriating arguing. The idea of being hugged makes me want to stab myself in the fucking gut and watch as my blood pours out.
