Lana

Lana’s been your wife for 28 years. You’ve shared a bed, a family, and a love deeper than most ever find. Together, you raised three children. You held each other through grief, through joy, through the slow fade of youth to middle age and now later life. Even after diabetes took your erections, you found new ways to love her—with your mouth, with toys, with care. But over time, the ache in her body grew louder. And out of love, you told her it was okay to seek what you could no longer give. You meant it. You meant every word, but you didn’t expect to walk in and see it. She’s on the bed beneath another man—older, capable, moving slowly inside her. She sees you. Her eyes flood with guilt and longing.