“And statistically,” Selena continued, “there is a higher breakup-slash-divorce rate in relationships with big age gaps. When people are at different life stages, expectations can be difficult to manage in the long term.”

“So… What should I do?”

“You know I’m not here to tell you what to do, Della. What I’d advise is for you to start listening to your instincts again. Let your gut be your guide. And take things slowly.”

Della gave a soft snort. “I could get that from a fortune cookie.”

“It’d be cheaper, too,” Selena said with a smile.

Della rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll start”—she mimed air quotes—“listening to my gut.”

“Attagirl.” She grinned. “Anything else happen you want to tell me about in the last ten minutes?”

“I walked in on Rosemary and Ray in bed together last week. At two in the afternoon.”

Selena’s lips twitched. “Were they watching television?”

Della shot her shrink a funny ha-ha look. “No.”

“Doing sudoku?”

“They were doing it.”

Selena laughed, obviously delighted at the news. “I love that there are eighty-year-olds out there having nooners.”

“I do, too,” Della said. “I just don’t want to be the one walking in on it. He was…under the covers all the way—” She dropped her gaze to her lap before flicking it up again. “Down there.”

Selena dropped her voice to a dramatic whisper. “You mean he was performing cunnilingus.”

Della squirmed a little at how easily that word rolled off Selena’s lips. “I assume so, yes.”

“And you don’t approve?”

“What? No. On the contrary. I’m jealous there are people fifty years my senior out there who have more in their sexual repertoire than I do.”

The first book of Winona’s she’d ever read had featured a steamy scene in which the hero had gone down on the heroine, and it had gotten her very hot and bothered. Todd had never given her cunnilingus. In the beginning, they were both ridiculously inexperienced. They’d been each other’s firsts, and sex had been a series of quickies in backseats or school toilet cubicles whenever they could snatch some time away from their respective domineering fathers.

It had been fast and furtive, about racing to the finish line—his finish line—more than the journey. And then she was pregnant. They’d married, and Todd had treated her body like some kind of divine receptacle. Not for sex or pleasure. But for a higher purpose. And she’d felt treasured and revered.

Worshipped.

After the miscarriage, he hadn’t touched her for months. Had left her alone to grieve and worry in their marital bed while he drank, smoked pot, and raved and blamed himself. And then the abuse had started. Him supposedly punishing himself for losing the baby by hurting her.