Bleeding For A Woman Who Does Not Care
Language: en
The person Damon Blackwell wanted. That’s who I became after we got back together. A perfectly docile woman. The perfect opposite of the woman I was. No more late-night suspicion, no more furtive phone-checking, and zero hostility toward the parade of women who had always orbited him. When I found a ripped, practically empty foil packet of ultra-thin 0.01s wedged in the center console of his G-Wagon, I didn't scream. I didn't even flinch. I just neatly tucked it back into his jacket pocket, not only withholding a single accusation but gently reminding him to monitor the shelf life. Damon’s…