“Are you ever going to tell your husband about us?” I retort.

She huffs and folds her arms across her chest. “It’s not the same.” Her words are quiet.

I leave and return with two full glasses of scotch, handing one to her and taking a seat. I put one arm around her and pull her close telling her I know. She lets out a soft, silent sob and as quickly as the cry left her body, she pulls it back in, regaining her composure. She takes a large gulp of the scotch and doesn’t even flinch at the burn. She leans into me. We sit there in silence, drinking our glasses of scotch, trapped in loveless marriages where we come second to the people we love. When Kelly and I are together, we come first. I refill our glasses twice more, and then we have sex again. This time, I don’t fuck her—I make love to her.

3

Sarah Morgan

I’m poring over case files, the papers shifting and falling like the snow of a freshly plunged avalanche. I had planned to go into the office for just a few hours to prep for the week, but here I am sipping at my twelve-hour old coffee with oil circles floating on top to remind me of its age. My corner office is on the fourteenth floor, which is as high as one can get in D.C. without erecting a phallus taller than Mr. Washington’s. It has floor-to-ceiling windows and is one of the biggest in the firm, and no one would contest as to why I was given it.

With several high-profile cases and the most case wins out of any attorney here, I more than earned my place as a named partner at Williamson & Morgan. The tips of my fingers rub my forehead, slowly massaging my temples as if to conjure myself back into a state of peace and normalcy. I slide my reading glasses off and drop them onto my desk with a resounding crash to punctuate my frustration. The clock on my phone reads 8:04pm. An exasperated huff exits my mouth to let the non-existent audience in my office know how taxed I am.

I send a quick text to Adam:

Sorry, I really wanted to be with you today. I miss you.