Bleaching The Sheets Of His Sins
Language: en
My husband once handed me a "Permission to Stray" agreement. It was a cold, clinical piece of paper with one particularly grotesque clause: he was allotted twelve "incidents" of infidelity per year. Any unused credits would be converted into a cash payout at the end of the fiscal year. I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw a glass. I simply offered him a faint, practiced smile and signed my name in elegant cursive. From that day on, I became the ghost of his penthouse. I was the one who stripped the silk sheets after his "guests" left, the one who bleached the scent of foreign perfume out of his…