It was one of those days—everything went wrong. I want to rage, scream, break something. I’m ready to fly to pieces. My lover looks up, sees me in the doorway.
“Come here.” When I’ve crossed the room, I kneel. I’m at her feet, my head on her knees and her fingers in my hair before I realize I’m trembling.
“Tell me.” The command is soft.
Only then do I come unglued, spilling and breaking. But it’s okay, because she has always been a master puzzler, understanding how all the pieces fit together. My pieces are safe in her hands.
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