"Ugh …" I retched violently in the car. Disgust, I felt pure, unrelenting disgust.
I closed my eyes, but the image of their entwined bodies clung to my mind like a nightmare, impossible to shake.
My face felt damp. I instinctively reached up to touch it and realized my tears had long begun to fall.
I thought back to Matthew's claim that he had a cleanliness obsession and would only ever touch me in his lifetime. Now, looking back, it felt like the biggest lie in the world.
The next evening, Matthew came back in a rush, as usual, holding a bouquet of my favorite roses. Normally, I would greet him cheerfully, chatting nonstop about all the little things in my day. But now, I just sat on the sofa, listless, my fingers brushing over a delicate box.
Matthew finally sensed something off about my mood. Cautiously, he asked, "Miranda, did I do something to upset you?"
He lowered his posture, his face full of eager apology, like a puppy wagging its tail. In the past, every time he showed this pitiful expression, I'd soften and forgive him. But not this time.