My body feels sore—the way it would feel if I’d suddenly done too much cycling. I pull out a nightie and wear it; my ruined dressing gown still lies at the foot of the bed. I pick it up—along with the awful lingerie—and stifle a sob.

Last night was the best sex I’ve ever had since being married! I felt alive, Sid felt so alive, so different. He was demanding but I felt so—so wanted.

I walk into the bathroom and look into the mirror above the wash basin. My lower lip is slightly swollen and—and there are bite marks all over. I quickly check my neck and find no marks on it but my breasts … And to think that ever since we’ve been married we’ve only gone through the motions—him on top, me below, one-two, one-two and over.

I close my eyes as I remember his mouth marking me, his fingers kneading me. I remember him threading his fingers through my hair, pulling my head back as he moved into me. I remember his weight on me …

I remember how he called out Lalita’s name. ‘Lata,’ he said.

I splash water on my face; I feel too good and too numb to cry yet—how can I possibly feel both together?

I tried to push him off me when he called out to her, but he was too heavy, too insistent. I lay there with him on top of me, I didn’t want him to touch me anymore, but my body loved everything he did to me. How could my body betray me like that when—Did Sid know last night, even for a minute, that it wasn’t Lalita—that he was making love to me?

He’d rolled off me afterwards and passed out almost instantly. I lay there, I don’t know for how long, unable to sleep—so angry.

I feel the anger again. I’m angry with Dragon for giving me that box and making me insecure; angry at myself for opening it. I’m angry at Lalita for making Sid love her, for being so beautiful. But mostly I am angry that I read that stupid blog and believed what that woman wrote.

It’s the Bride’s fault. She gave me the idea to seduce Sid, she made me buy that stupid bra, and she made me humiliate myself. If I hadn’t read her blog—if she hadn’t written such utter trash—none of this would have happened.

With sudden clarity I know what I’m going to write in the blogger story that Comma wants. I’m also going to have a frank chat with Sid, though it will have to wait till the evening—I need to get to work on time today.