Epilogue

A woman can’t change a man because she loves him; a man changes himself because he loves her. —Unknown

My wedding day started just shy of seven o’clock on a warm June morning, about two weeks after my twentieth birthday. It was the summer break before my senior year of college. My soon-to-be wife had graduated two years earlier and was actually working for Ten’s architectural firm, in the accounting department. And we’d been living in our own place—no other roommates—for about eighteen months now.

I liked to tease her about becoming my nerdy, numbers-crunching accountant wife while I peeled off her conservative cotton panties and stripped her bare. She’d just blink at me dryly and then demand I go down on her in reconciliation. I didn’t exactly mind: eating my favorite pussy wasn’t the hardship for me she seemed to think it was.

But this morning, there was no stripping or pussy. I woke on Noel and Aspen’s lumpy, too-short couch to two-year-old Lucy Olivia and five-year-old Beau watc