I THOUGHT all I ever needed to do for my marriage was hold this wrench.
Then my husband hired a private investigator.
Then I discovered he splurged on other women. Women who didn't have his last name, his ring on their finger, or his commitment.
The world is falling apart.
I'm holding on by a thread. A thread that's splitting from the weight of my agony.
Everything about the pain is familiar. The sharpness of it between my ribs. The way it drags my entire world to nothing. Burns it until there's only ash. The remnants of my self-confidence. My smiles. My hope in the rubble.
I dig my fingers around Doc's wrench and yearn for a solution. Some way to fix this. To make the pain go away. But it feels like every time I reach for it, the magical solution disappears. A cruel game of hide-and-seek.
I've never told anyone about this. Not Pax. Not my other friends.
