She blinked and teetered. I could see she realized something was wrong with her story, but she couldn’t quite grasp it.
Where does a woman’s self-satisfaction come from if her main criteria for success in life is being half of a couple?
Burning Ed’s name into my abdomen was the equivalent of getting a tattoo, just short of being engaged, a symbol of eternal love.
She got married, had kids, kept a nice house, and made sure there was always plenty of lunch meat in the fridge for her husband.
She was a high class dame, out of reach for a guy like him; a mixed up redhead, part lover, part killer, all diva. And she was smart, so smart sometimes he was afraid of her.