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"I can't eat anything!" "Shh. " Chris brushed my hair off my forehead. "Don't cry. " "You'd cry, too, if it was Christmas and you were missing out on a turkey dinner the way you'd always had it.
"I thought you'd never ask. " He thrust hard, making me scream. In just a couple of strokes, I was shaking beneath him. He continued pounding.
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"Look at me. Tell me what this all about. I'm here for you, remember. No matter what it is. I swear-" "I had a miscarriage.
He picked me up princess-style and carried me down the hall. I expected that we were going back to bed. But he surprised me by taking me into the bathroom. Setting me on the closed toilet lid and leaning me against the vanity countertop. Then he ran a hot bath.
But I didn't care. I stood there buck naked in my kitchen and screamed my head off with my hands fisted at my sides, my feet stomping. At some point, I realized Chris was standing by the island with me, also without a stitch of clothing on.
He didn't say anything.
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His mouth parted slightly, and a light sheen of sweat formed on his upper lip. As he worked, his jaw clenched and released, his head tilting this way and that to avoid mine. His hands expertly wrapped, threaded, twisted, and tugged the rope just how he wanted it. Repeating from back to front, weaving patterns he knew from memory.
Which started me thinking. If I was one of those candidates, did I want to work there permanently manning the front desk. Maybe I should have finished college. I'd just not had any interest in any of the fields when it had been time to declare a major.
This one had knocked me flat on my back, and I couldn't find the strength to get back up again. I fell asleep with tears drying on my face and my heart feeling crushed.
The next morning, I found cans of chicken noodle soup and clear juice stocked in the kitchen; tissues and pain relievers in the bathroom; and bedding folded on the ottoman. But there was no sign of Chris.
I moped around the house, thankful that my new schedule did not include weekends.