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I began to cry.
A good cry.
A healthy cry.
Stop it, Anna! Stop being Dr. Autumn all the time.
Just be Anna.
Think about everything that happened with Steven.
You knew something was wrong for so long.
But the careers.
That was all that mattered.
Having your career. Him having his.
And it worked.
Or it appeared to work.
There was work. There was after work.
Wine.
A purchased dinner.
Cheap conversation.
He’d leave.
I’d be alone.
Trashy reality shows.
Forced smile.
Decent sleep.
I lowered my head and realized I fell into the trap of perceived comfort.
Something I would have advised anyone against.
I stood and walked to the bathroom.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
Tears running down my cheeks, stealing my mascara with it.
What’s wrong with me?
I know him not getting hard was the reality of our relationship.
And the fact that his balls were drained from a stripper.
My stomach flipped.
