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I wonder what it would feel like to be his woman. Not just his sex…buddy, his temporary fling, but his. The thought wraps around me like a dangerous lullaby, soft and enticing but entirely unrealistic.

What kind of woman was his late wife? The jealousy hits before I can stop it, sharp and unwelcome.

She must’ve been perfect, the kind of woman who could stand beside a man like Hayes without flinchi