The collarbone, the skin tone, the shape of her lips, and that tiny mole I knew far too well.
It was her. It was Averie Collins, my wife.
A cold sweat soaked my back, and a sharp ringing pierced through my ears.
Beneath the photo, vulgar comments poured in like sewage.
“Bro’s got taste. Something about these decent ones hits differently.”
“Those eyes? Pure seduction. She’s built to ruin men.”
“Where’s the video? Stop teasing and drop it!”
The screen blurred as if I’d been thrown into a bottomless pit. Every filthy word scorched my skin like acid.
“This… can’t be happening…”
I muttered, and my phone slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor.
The buzzing in my ears grew louder, like a hive of bees crawling through my skull.
Averie. My wife. The woman who blushed from a kiss, who couldn’t meet my eyes after a hug. She’d always been shy, even with me.
How could she possibly have such a humiliating side?
My fingers went numb. My limbs locked up. My scalp prickled as if someone had ripped it open.
And the group was still going strong.
“That body? I could beat it to this for a year straight.”
“Where’s the source?”
“Does anyone know if she’s local? Can we hook up?”
I stared at the photo.