Later that night, I did something stupid and brave. I kissed him.
He laughed, low and warm. “That’s not how you kiss, sweetheart.” Then he leaned down and showed me how.
It was deep and slow, and I remember thinking that no man would ever touch me like that again. I didn’t know that kiss would ruin me years later.
When I woke up, my pillow was wet. I didn’t even realize I’d been crying.
The sky outside was turning pale. I sat for a long time before calling my father.
“Dad,” I said, my voice rough. “I’m divorced.”
He went quiet for a moment. Then, sharp and worried, “Did he hurt you?”
I stared out the window. “No. We just stopped loving each other.”
But that wasn’t true. He stopped loving me.
And I stopped surviving it. I didn’t tell my father that part. Some things hurt more when spoken aloud.
After I hung up, I just sat there, staring at my phone. Then it buzzed… a new friend request.
Without thinking, I tapped accept.
A second later, a video popped up.
Dominic was asleep on a couch, shirt half unbuttoned, hair messy, face soft in the dim light. His lips moved faintly. I turned the volume up and almost dropped my phone when I heard it—
“Lory…”
Then came the messages.