No More Pleading for You
On my birthday, I personally prepare 16 dishes. After setting up the candlelight, I open a bottle of red wine.
I take a photo and send it to my husband, Eric Sinclair.
"I'm working late tonight. Don't wait for me," he replies.
I choose to believe him.
But after midnight, I notice an Instagram story posted by Shirley Huxley, his secretary.
Eric was there with her, dressed in the trench coat I once gave him. They sat side by side in the VIP seat of football stadium where my favorite Super Bowl take place.
Entwined in a passionate embrace, they kissed beneath a sea of shimmering lights and the roar of thousands of fans.
That game is the one I have always longed to experience with him.
I
Bab Populer