Life of Anne Pt. 05 - Growing

Dear reader,

This is the fifth installment in the "Life of Anne" series. It doesn't stand alone, so if you'd like to truly follow along, I'd recommend reading parts 1 through 4 first. You can find them on my author page.

This chapter contains a moment of coerced intimacy, as well as references to mental health struggles. For me, these elements make Anne's story feel real, but I understand they can be triggering. I want to mention it up front, without letting it overshadow what I believe is a story worth telling.

I hope it won't keep you from reading. Anne's journey is raw, flawed, sometimes painful, but deeply human. And I believe it's worth following.

NightAelf

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My first real grown-up job was official. I'd landed a position as an account manager at a mid-sized print company, and I took it very seriously. Maybe even a bit too seriously. Fresh out of school and full of ambition, I felt like I had something to prove. I'd worked my ass off for four years, so why wouldn't I be able to make a real difference?

Most of my colleagues were fine, but the older crowd didn't quite know what to do with me. It wasn't about what I did, but how I did it. Too fast, too sharp, too precise. Still, I was open to feedback. Even when it stung a little, I wanted to grow.

In the beginning, I got the easy clients or new ones nobody knew what to do with. But after a few months, the more difficult ones started showing up in my inbox. Clients other people avoided. I didn't mind. I saw it as a challenge. Some conversations were awkward as hell, internal meetings could be tense, but there was always one thing that grounded me at the end of the day.

A tiny girl running toward me with her arms wide open screaming "MomAnne".

She babbled in her own little language, but I understood every word, following me up the stairs to my floor and telling me all about her day. Sarah usually came to pick her up after half an hour or so. We'd talk for a bit, sometimes about serious stuff, sometimes about nothing. There was still a quiet intimacy between us, even if we didn't sleep together anymore.

She once told me she missed that bond. That, strangely enough, she didn't even have it with David, even though the sex was good. It sometimes felt like we were Amy's real parents. David loved his daughter with all his heart, no doubt. But when it came to the day-to-day things, he usually left those to Sarah and, well, to me too.

I kept myself in check when it came to that part. Amy deserved peace, not friction.

At work, though, things started to go sideways. A few colleagues who didn't love the way I did things began to push back. I hadn't seen it coming. My manager pulled me aside about mistakes I couldn't explain. I figured I'd just been careless, promised to improve. But something didn't feel right. I couldn't quite place it, but I knew something was off.

My clients were satisfied, even the difficult ones hardly complained anymore. I listened carefully, stuck to their budgets, and if something wasn't feasible, I said so honestly. They appreciated that. My numbers improved faster than expected. It wasn't until much later that I realized this was exactly the problem. Some colleagues had labeled those clients as 'difficult' for years, and then I, the newbie, came along and suddenly made things work. That started to cause friction.

The little teasing turned meaner. The 'jokes' sharper, more targeted. It didn't stop at snide remarks by the coffee machine. Files went missing. Notes on jobs were mysteriously altered. Deadlines I'd clearly met were suddenly "forgotten" or "never received." There was always just enough ambiguity to make me doubt myself. To make me look careless. And it worked.

Back then, internet was still in its infancy, at least for most industries, just like ours In the printing world, things were shifting fast. We were among the early adopters, ahead of the curve, because we had to be. High-res files, tight deadlines, constant proofing, last-minute corrections, we needed speed. Internet made that possible. Or, it would. In theory.

We used ISDN, a digital upgrade from dial-up. It was faster, but also clunky and expensive. You needed special lines, special modems, special software. And every minute online ran up the bill. There was no such thing as "always on." You logged in, held your breath, sent your files, and hoped the connection held. Every wrong click risked a virus or a crash that could take down the whole server.

So yes, we were pioneers. But not everyone came with us.

Most of our clients, design studios, marketing agencies, old family businesses, weren't ready to make the leap. Some couldn't afford it. Others didn't have the infrastructure. Rolling out a data network cost money. Training staff took time. And let's be honest: some simply didn't trust it. They stuck with fax machines. With handwritten notes. With a phone call and a scribbled PO number. We were ready to jump; they were still lacing their shoes.

That meant the distance between client and printer was often still physical. Orders came in by fax. Confirmations needed blue ink. Final approvals were signed in person. Color proofs, the real ones, not a JPEG in an email, were printed on Chromalux, or if the budget allowed, as an IRIS proof. That last one was a true color simulation, sprayed dot by dot by an inkjet plotter that cost more than a mid-range car. They were treated like relics: wrapped, labeled, sent out by courier like secret diplomatic mail.

But before we even got to color, we sent out diazo prints on translucent paper, developed in a fuming machine that hissed ammonia gas like a wheezing old beast. It stank. It bit your throat. But it gave you clean, violet-blue lines, every fold, trim, and cut laid out in cold precision.

I loved that part. That chemical sting, sharp and urgent, like vinegar and adrenaline. The smell of finality.

So when my boss called me in one morning and said my internet usage was "excessive," I froze.

There had been flagged downloads. Data spikes. Suspicious traffic. And that wasn't all. He also brought up some delays with color proofs, said the Chromalux and IRIS samples hadn't been properly archived, that some had even gone missing, which had pushed back client approvals.

"If this continues," he said, "we'll have to take action."

He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. The implication was clear: I was careless. Maybe even dishonest. I felt the blood drain from my face.

I didn't browse. I didn't download anything. I followed the rules closely. And if a proof was delayed or missing, I wanted to know who had handled it last. Because it wasn't me.

But I said nothing. I just sat there, nodding, silent, stunned. I couldn't believe it. The ground seemed to shift beneath me. I had been trying so hard. My loyalty had never been questioned until now. More and more I felt like someone was messing with me and my work.

But I had nothing concrete. No proof, just that vague, elusive feeling. And as long as I couldn't prove it, I stayed polite, professional, and careful.

When I closed the door of the company behind me at the end of the day, everything fell away. All I wanted was to go home, to Amy. That little girl who ran to me with open arms and followed me upstairs like I was her hero. Then I was human again, safe again. Her bedtime stories kept me going, even when it felt like everything around me was falling apart.

Every now and then I still went out with friends. I'd kept in touch with a few people from my studies, and in The Hague I had some familiar faces too. I had decided I didn't want a relationship for a while, but every now and then the warmth of a woman's body pressed against mine was welcome. In The Hague, I often went out with Marley. Usually I stayed over at her place or at my aunt's.

Marley and I had a complicated history, full of physical attraction, but her fascination with the BDSM scene often put me off. It was a world where jealousy and old grudges sometimes weighed heavier than desire. Everything seemed tangled up. I still believed in connection that started somewhere and did not begin with a fight.

She told me about a café downtown. Open minded, warm, exactly what I needed. That's where I met her. Melanctha. Not exactly beautiful, but she had something. Eyes that seemed to undress me with softness. A presence like she already knew me. Like I would leave a piece of myself with her without regret.

She wore a tight black dress, an open back, high heels. Her voice was clear when she whispered what her name meant. "Black flower". I felt a flutter in my belly, not just desire, but that strange elusive feeling you do not meet often, attraction yes, but also a kind of threat with no name yet.

We danced like we already knew each other. Like teenagers. I lost myself in her scent, her skin, the way her body molded to mine. When we walked to the bar and she gave me one look that made it clear what she wanted, I knew I would go with her. Of course I went.

In an alley near the café she pressed me against the wall. Her lips found mine, her hands slid under my coat. Everything tingled. Everything begged for more. But somewhere beneath the burning desire, that tingling alertness stayed. Not fear, but something else.

We laughed. She whispered, "My bed is close."

On the way there we kept touching, like we were afraid to lose something. When we arrived and she was about to put the key in the lock, I turned her to me one last time. Her warmth, her softness, her body pressed to mine. I did not know if I wanted to hold her or undress her more.

Inside it was warm. But the atmosphere shifted. The interior was unexpectedly bare. Impersonal. Almost sober, like a set that did not fit the woman who had just swept me into a hurricane of excitement.

Just as I took off my coat, I heard heavy footsteps behind me. Melanctha did not seem bothered, but I suddenly did not feel comfortable anymore. The vibe had changed. Something was off. I broke free from her embrace and turned around.

Behind me stood a naked man, a leather mask over his face, a chain looped around his neck. His arms were hidden behind his back, and he was sporting an erection. He didn't move. Just stood there, stiff and silent, like he was waiting for a cue.

I wasn't afraid of him. Not really. It wasn't disgust either. And it wasn't about him being a man. I just felt nothing. No arousal. No curiosity. Nothing remotely magnetic.

What hit me instead was the atmosphere. That loaded tension, like I had walked into a private scene mid-performance. Like everyone had memorized their lines, rehearsed their marks, set the stage, and I had been dropped in as the lead without even knowing the plot. It felt like expectation. Like something was supposed to happen next. And I was the something.

"Who is this?" I asked quietly. "And what is he hiding behind his back?"

Melanctha laughed. Not cruelly, not even unkindly. More like she was already ten steps ahead. "That's Pedro," she said. "My little slave. He's here for extra pleasure."

I swallowed hard. Somewhere, deep in me, a part still wanted to stay. Call it curiosity. Call it desire. I won't lie. A part of me wondered what might unfold. But the part that needed control, safety, dignity had already started packing its bags.

She tried anyway. She pulled up my skirt and bundled it up around my hips and slid between my legs. Her tongue moved the way it had before, confident and practiced. And my body reacted. Bodies are strange that way. But my mind stayed sharp, stayed on Pedro. I needed to know where he was. What he was doing. Why he was still just standing there like an actor waiting for his cue.

When she gave him a signal and he stepped forward, my breath caught. He was holding leather cuffs. I asked what their intentions were. She avoided the question. Gave me no choice. And then, like she was dropping a final twist in a story I hadn't agreed to be part of, she said, "Pedro is my husband. And if he behaves, he might fuck you later. Maybe you'll get to use him as a toilet after."

Everything in me locked up.

It didn't feel like an invitation. It felt like an ambush.

That was the worst part. Not the man. Not the cuffs. But the erasure of my will. The slow, creeping sense that I was no longer seen as a person, but as a prop. A scene partner who didn't need a script because the plot had already been written without her.

I knew then undeniably that I didn't want this. I wasn't into this kind of thing. I'd learned that about myself long ago. And though the arousal still lingered in some corner of my body, it no longer belonged to me. It had gone cold.

I asked for a glass of water, mostly to buy myself a moment to breathe, to get my thoughts straight. Pedro brought it without a word. I took one look and saw something white floating near the rim. My gut twisted. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything.

"This glass isn't clean," I said flatly. No room for argument.

Without waiting, I walked briskly to the kitchen. I didn't want to give Pedro a chance to do anything else. I emptied the water in the sink, rinsed the glass, filled it again, and drank. Then I grabbed my stuff, calm on the outside, and headed for the door. Only when I stepped outside did I run. Into the night.

A few streets later, I completely lost it. I doubled over, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Hysterical, almost. Tears streamed down my face, not from fear, not from sadness, but from the sheer ridiculousness of it all. What the hell had that been? Some kind of off-brand horror porn with audience participation? It was so insane, so beyond anything I could've imagined, that my brain short-circuited and decided laughter was the only way out.

And then I noticed my skirt. Still hitched up around my waist, like some drunken schoolgirl cliché. I hadn't even realized I'd run out like that, bare legs flashing under the streetlights, adrenaline in my veins, sense of decorum left somewhere on that cold living room floor.

I started laughing even harder. God. What a scene. What a night. What a fucking mess.

At Marley's place, it was quiet. I had the key, so I slipped quietly inside and curled up on the couch under the guest blanket, naked and still buzzing from adrenaline. My skin was clammy, my heart still somewhere near my throat.

The next morning I woke up with a hangover without the booze. Marley sat in the big armchair like a queen, also naked, a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. She didn't even look up when she said, "How was your night?"

I told her everything. Every ridiculous, surreal detail. She chuckled, but her eyes stayed sharp.

"I'm glad you listened to your instincts," she said. "That kind of vibe? Nope. Your whole body was screaming nope."

Later that afternoon, just as I was getting ready to leave, she casually suggested, "Shall we swing by Melanctha's place?" I blinked. "Why on earth would we do that?"

"Just for fun," she said, grinning. "Think of it as spiritual revenge."

We giggled like kids on a dare, barely able to contain ourselves as we walked to the street I had pointed out. Just two grown women, acting like mischievous teenagers up to no good. As we rounded the corner, Marley suddenly pulled me back by the arm. "Wait," she said with mock concern. "Your skirt. Still up?"

I glanced down, flushed, and smacked her arm. "Very funny."

When we reached the house, the silliness peaked. On the wall next to the door was a tiny, perfectly ordinary nameplate. "Pete & Karen."

We both froze. Then burst out laughing. "That's it?" I gasped between giggles. "Pete and Karen?"

"No candle wax. No whips. Just Pete. And Karen."

Any last shred of mystery around Melanctha vanished in that moment. Marley leaned in, pressed the doorbell. Once. Twice. Three long times. Then we ran like hell, shrieking with laughter as we bolted down the street.

"Pete and Karen had to wake up someday," Marley said once we caught our breath, wiping tears from her eyes.

And for the first time in a while, I felt completely, stupidly light.

At work, I started finding naked pictures of women saved to my desktop. Once, there was an anonymous package on my desk. Inside was a giant dildo. I thought it was pathetic, really. But I chose to ignore it. I figured if I didn't give it any attention, it would blow over.

It didn't.

It got worse.

The photo of Sarah and Amy on my desk was destroyed and replaced by a printout of a shemale. The background on my computer, which used to be a sweet picture of Amy, had been digitally altered. Her little head, pasted onto the body of a porn actress.

I sat at my desk in tears. Not because I felt caught, or defeated. But because it was no longer about me. They'd found the line and crossed it. They hadn't just messed with my workstation, they'd dragged something sacred into their filthy game. Something from home. Something that was mine. Ours.

The world I had carefully kept separate from the rest, the part that grounded me, was pulled in through one small photo. And that felt like something pure had been touched in a way that couldn't be undone. It wasn't teasing anymore. It wasn't just a stupid joke. It felt like a violation. A rape without hands, without noise, but with a cold that settled deep into my bones.

I didn't know if I was crying out of rage, fear, or heartbreak. Probably all three at once.

Then came the summons. Another meeting with my manager. The door closed behind me for the first time.

He slid a piece of paper across the table. A formal warning.

Apparently, a large amount of pornographic content had been found on my computer. According to him, I had violated company policy and endangered the network with potential viruses. He spoke of serious risks and reckless internet behavior. As if I was the one poking holes in their leaky system.

But that was the whole issue, the system was leaky. It was the early days of the internet, when security wasn't really a thing yet. Hiring someone to properly set up and maintain the IT infrastructure? Way too expensive. No one wanted to pay for that. There wasn't any real sense of long-term thinking. If a problem popped up or someone had doubts, they'd call in a freelancer on an hourly rate. Quick fix. Patch the leak, move on. Prevention? Structure? Protocols? That was seen as overkill. Unnecessary.

There wasn't any visible return on investment when it came to well-maintained networks or clear security policies. The only thing they really cared about was the internet usage. That was where the real costs showed up. Time online meant money out the door, so they tried to control that as tightly as possible. Everything else was secondary.

There were manuals floating around on how to manage your data usage, how to avoid going over time, but barely anything about protection. Passwords were seen as a hassle. Something that just slowed you down when you needed to check something on a colleague's machine. Most workstations didn't even have login screens. Anyone could sit down and access whatever they wanted.

The virus scanner was a joke, the firewall flimsy at best, and if you knew where to click, you could bypass most of it without anyone noticing. Everyone knew that. Still, I was the one being pointed at when things went wrong.

In their minds, as long as everyone stuck to the rules, things were manageable. That was the whole philosophy. Keep it cheap, keep it moving, and deal with problems when they show up. Until they do, assume everything's fine.

My boss wasn't a mean man, and I could see he was uncomfortable, but he said he had no choice. This warning was official. One more slip-up and I'd be out. I sat there stunned, trying to speak, but only a sob came out.

Inside, a storm was raging. I felt like that little girl again, getting scolded for something she didn't even know was wrong. But this time, I wasn't going to stay silent. My throat tightened, my chest burned, but I swallowed it down and finally let it out. Something inside snapped, the switch flipped from quiet pain to raw defiance.

I told him everything. Every petty prank, every cruel joke, every messed-up desktop and photo, all of it, no holding back, no sugarcoating. Huppakee, laid it all out in the open.

Dragging Amy into this, those jokes and photos crossed a line I wasn't about to forget or forgive. This wasn't just work anymore. It was personal. My life, my family, my everything. If they thought I'd back down, they had no idea. I wasn't just going to fight back. I was going to fight hard.

He listened, shaking his head. "Why didn't you come to me sooner?" he asked, like it was some big mystery. "We're really happy with your work. You've come up more than once in management meetings. But we didn't understand these strange outbursts."

I wasn't sure what shocked me more, that he showed some understanding, or that I'd been talked about at the boardroom level. It felt strange and exposing, but it gave me a sliver of hope. So I stayed honest and told him everything. I also shared how vulnerable I still was to stress because of a mental breakdown I'd had years ago. I'd hoped this nightmare would pass, but it didn't. Now I was done hiding behind silent suffering.

"Sweetheart, you work hard and have brilliant ideas, but most of the time you don't read people well. You need to toughen up a bit. People lose it when their safe spot feels threatened." It wasn't as harsh as I expected, he kind of got it.

He promised to look into my complaints but said the warning would stay for now. Only if proof came showing I was innocent would it be taken away. From then on, every move I made on the computer was logged, even my bathroom breaks. That proof arrived faster than I dared hope. Less than a week later someone slipped up.

That's how they found out two coworkers were sabotaging my computer whenever I was in meetings or away. My warning disappeared, and so did those two. For the first time since I started working there, I felt like I really belonged.

After two years, the company opened a new branch in Amsterdam. They had no trouble finding skilled people for the printing side, but they were still searching for someone with the right vision to strengthen the team at the company office. I was 33 by then, an age when chances like this didn't exactly fell into your lap. I had heard it was already a done deal, that I basically just had to go through the motions and apply. They were really happy with my work and genuinely saw me as the right person for the job.

In the years after those toxic coworkers were gone, I'd grown a lot. It wasn't easy, there was a lot of unrest inside me, but the idea that I could move up, get a better position, made it all worth it. I was caught between chasing my ambition and being there for Amy. The train ride between Rotterdam and Amsterdam wasn't too bad, but I'd get home too late to greet Amy when she came home from school or to listen to her stories about the day. Sarah promised we'd figure something out, but I couldn't shake the worry. Still, I decided to take the chance and see how it would go.

Those first months were a whirlwind. The new job demanded everything and everything else faded into the background. The only person I always made time for was my little girl. Amy was five by then and in primary school. She was allowed to stay up a bit later and if I got home in time we'd watch children's shows together before she headed to bed. Sometimes I'd walk her down and have a coffee with Sarah, but if David was around I'd quickly disappear upstairs. David was jealous of my relationship with Sarah and Amy but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Sarah had made that clear from the start.

The back and forth between Amsterdam and Rotterdam started to wear me down after a year. After many long talks with Sarah and David, I finally made the decision to start looking for a place in Amsterdam. David wasn't exactly open to making clear arrangements about Amy, but Sarah was unwavering. In her eyes, Amy was my daughter just as much as hers.

And yet, I knew the truth. I had no legal standing. Nothing on paper connected me to that little girl. No custody, no shared parenthood, not even a formal right to call her mine. It was all trust. All heart. All invisible.

Sarah believed in it enough to fight for it, if needed. I tried to hold on to that, but the fear never really left me. The quiet dread that one day, a line would be drawn, sharp, cold, final and I'd find myself on the wrong side of it. I tried not to think that far ahead. But some nights, when the house was quiet and my thoughts wouldn't settle, that fear curled up beside me like a shadow I couldn't shake.

It took a while, but I found a nice house in Amsterdam-North, just across the water from the city center. I had a good salary and was able to buy it without too much strain. David helped me arrange everything, the mortgage, but especially the rest of my finances. As a financial advisor, he had a good understanding of these matters, and he believed that I needed to have everything in order. In the end, it was also about the well-being of his daughter. He may have struggled with some things, but he was a top-notch advisor.

Work was within cycling distance, less than fifteen minutes and if I ever decided to get a car, parking in the neighborhood wouldn't be an issue. I didn't have one yet, but the thought had started creeping in. Especially with Amy. I was still doing the back-and-forth by train, hauling bags and lunchboxes and sleepy five-year-olds on Sunday nights. Sarah had a car, but I couldn't rely on it like I used to. Amy came every other weekend and quickly made friends in the neighborhood. She was turning into quite the little lady, full of stories and questions, chatting away like she'd lived there her whole life.

Sarah couldn't hide it anymore, things between her and David were falling apart right in front of us. Amy, sharp as ever, asked me if her dad was going to live somewhere else. I froze. What could I say? The question hung heavy in the air. Later, when I dropped Amy off, I told Sarah. It was their mess to sort out, but it gnawed at me that Amy was stuck right in the middle, caught between two worlds she didn't fully understand.

Meanwhile, my love life was low. Flirts came and went, and once in a while a one-night stand filled the gap, but there was no space for anything real. Marley was off in Portugal chasing her hostess gig, and Sarah was drowning in her own relationship chaos. The whole thing felt like a slow, quiet storm rolling over everything.

Then there was Tanja. She was one of those easy-to-like people, a trainee supervisor from the training center who came around because we had interns scattered over several departments. My department had two, and I was the go-to contact, even though I wasn't officially their supervisor. From the moment I met Tanja, we just clicked. It wasn't long before we started meeting up outside of work too.

I hadn't realized how much I missed having a close friend nearby, someone to really talk to. Slowly, we grew closer and closer. Tanja lived with Erik, and I got along with him just as well. Erik was sharp and ambitious, making his way up in the IT world. At home, he reminded me of a mischievous schoolboy full of energy and plans, but when it came to work, he was all business. He adored Tanja, and together they seemed like the perfect match. Amy loved Tanja too, and whenever Erik was around, he happily played with my little girl. I'd never seen David interact with Amy that way, but I tried not to dwell on that.

I shared pieces of my past with Tanja, my life with Marley, my life with Sarah. Our talks sometimes drifted into my sex life as well. That's how I found out Tanja had some curiosity about women. Erik was aware and didn't mind her experimenting, and sometimes she even joined me for nights out.

I felt protective of Tanja, like a big sister looking out. When we went out, I didn't try to chase other women. Instead, I cheered her on, hoping she'd enjoy herself and find what she wanted. Sometimes that meant a casual night here or there, and she clearly liked it. I didn't feel that way about Tanja myself, no sparks, no desire, but I was genuinely glad to have her as a friend.

Still, there was a certain tension between us sometimes, a thin line where friendship almost tipped into something more. For me, friendship was everything. I was scared that crossing that line would change everything. But maybe, deep down, I was even more scared that not crossing it would change things too.

In the end, I never did. Not because it was impossible or hard, but because my feelings held me back. I knew whatever was there, it wouldn't be fair to give her something I couldn't truly feel myself.

Living closer to my parents meant I saw them more often, and whenever Amy was with me, she loved spending an hour or two with her grandparents. They adored her and relished having her around.

Sarah started calling more and more, asking if Amy could stay the weekend, even when it wasn't officially my turn. I understood the tension between Sarah and David was growing, and she wanted to shield Amy from it.

The apartment I rented from Sarah had been spruced up by David. He turned my living room into a spacious office and took over my bedroom for himself. They weren't living together anymore, but they still shared the same house.

A few years earlier, David had started his own financial consulting business alongside his job. It took off so well he quit his day job. That meant he was often home, sometimes hovering a little too close to Sarah. I think it was a relief for him when I moved out. With no other tenants left, he converted the attic into a guest space. Sarah's parents were grateful and could now easily stay for weeks when visiting family in the Netherlands.

Sometimes Sarah stayed the weekend at my place too. Since I only had one extra room where Amy slept, Sarah would sleep with me. The first few times were manageable, we'd fall asleep side by side. But Sarah's intense, irresistible pull was still there. On the third night she stayed over, we couldn't keep our hands off each other.

We attacked each other like starving animals. She even wore that purple lingerie set that had once been mine. I loved that she'd kept it all these years, and she admitted she still got incredibly turned on wearing it. I still had some of her panties tucked under my pillow too, even though I'd washed them a few times by now.

Amy loved having Sarah around more often. She'd say we were finally complete, though she was quick to add she loved her dad too.

As a little surprise, I'd bought one of those tiny vibrating toys, the same kind Sarah had once used to tease me. She loved it when I wore my work clothes, usually a skirt or trouser suit, and I'd slip the toy in just before she arrived.

I felt mischievous but kept it to myself. I wanted to focus all my attention on Amy, even though the toy between my legs made that pretty difficult. Since it was late when they came over, I decided it was time for Amy to go to bed after about an hour. She protested a little but eventually brushed her teeth and came out in her babydoll to give us a hug and a goodnight kiss.

She no longer needed me to tuck her in and knew she could keep the light on for another fifteen minutes to read by herself.

I grabbed a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, settling close to Sarah on the couch. Halfway through the first glass, I peeked into Amy's room. She was fast asleep. I kissed her forehead and turned off the light.

I'd kept 'our' little plastic bag all these years. I fetched it from the bedroom, slipped the remote control for the toy inside, and quickly scribbled a note: "Please not on level four." Back on the couch, I dropped the bag casually onto Sarah's lap.

A delicious shiver ran through me. The toy gently pressed warmly between my clit and folds. Normally, I would have changed clothes by now, but I still wore my suit. Sarah shook the bag on her lap and smiled knowingly. When she read the note, she laughed and pressed the button to level four, teasing me.

I expected it, but the sudden surge of vibration still took me by surprise. I tried to act cool, though it was impossible, and straddled her lap, pressing my heat firmly against hers. We sat like that for a while, enjoying the moment. After a few minutes, she lowered the toy to level one and I could breathe easier. My panties stuck to my hips as I got up. I was hot, no doubt, but I didn't want to start a full session with Amy just tucked in.

Taking Sarah's hand, I led her to the bedroom. She mischievously bumped the toy back up to level four on the way. She knew I couldn't resist, not wanting to wake Amy, and loved the effect she had on me.

I didn't bother with slow, sensual undressing. I practically tore her clothes off in a frenzy. When she stood before me in lingerie, I pulled her close, her back against my chest. I kissed her neck and nuzzled her throat. She leaned back onto my shoulder, equal parts aroused and relaxed. My hands slid from her stomach to her hips. She pressed her pelvis to mine and raised the toy's intensity. I flicked my tongue along her earlobe and whispered, "I want you so badly, to feel you completely."

She didn't need a second invitation. Clothes hit the floor in no time, and I tossed my suit jacket on a chair, too distracted to care. We crashed onto the bed, lips locking in a fierce, hungry kiss. I scooted back and lay diagonally, motioning for her to pull her legs up so I could slip between them. It was a position we didn't do often, and we giggled a little as we fumbled to get comfortable. Once settled, Sarah felt the toy buzzing against her clit just as clearly as I did.

My juices slicked the toy, making it easy for her to grind back and forth. She held the remote and controlled the tempo. I didn't last long, after wearing the toy for so long, I came hard. I collapsed back, breathless, while Sarah kept going, reaching a fierce climax herself. She quickly switched the toy off and peeled it from me. I felt numb down there, but the waves of pleasure still rippled through my body.

Sarah settled on top of me and we kissed, savoring the afterglow. Together we drifted off to sleep.

I woke when Sarah got up to check on Amy and turn off the lights. I followed to lock the door.

We crawled back under the covers, Sarah resting her head on my chest. I sensed she wanted to say something but was holding back.

We knew each other inside out, yet there was always some distance between us. It had always been that way, and I trusted she'd open up when the time was right. I turned on my side to face her and brushed a strand of hair from her face. She smiled gently and returned the gesture.

Still so caring, still so close, yet still somehow so far away, she whispered.

I knew exactly what she meant. It stung a little.

She poked my belly with a finger and laughed softly. "I want to ask you something, but you have to be honest if you want to or not." I looked at her, curious and a little nervous. Still unsure, she looked away for a moment, then said, "I love being taken from behind. Would you do that for me?"

Her cheeks flushed pink, part embarrassment, part desire.

I'd pleased women this way before, but it still felt incredibly intimate and special. I remembered how I'd touched Sarah like that during her pregnancy but never asked if David had ever done it. I got out of bed and grabbed the double strap harness. I slid the internal dildo inside me and tightened it. I rolled a condom onto the external dildo and coated it generously with lube.

Sarah was already lying on her stomach with pillows beneath her. The sight of her open pussy and eager ass fired me up even more. I slicked her rosebud with lube and gently slid a finger inside. It was easier than the first time. She moaned, "Put it in, I want to feel you."

Carefully, I pressed the dildo's tip against her rosebud and slowly pushed it in. She winced a little; the dildo was thicker than David's cock I think, but I pushed through.

Panting, she resisted a bit then started moving slowly with me. I kneaded her nipples roughly and rubbed her clit. With her body moving and my thrusts, I came hard on the inside dildo, and not long after she convulsed in a powerful orgasm.

After freshening up, we lay tangled together.

Before sleep claimed her, she whispered, "Tomorrow, I want to talk to you, baby."

The next morning, I felt the duvet gently lift and then some cold little feet resting on my leg. Half asleep, I cracked open an eye and saw Amy had crawled into bed beside me. The first thing that raced through my mind was that I was naked and that Sarah and I had used toys the night before. A quick glance around the room showed nothing out of place. I remembered Sarah had cleaned everything up and put it away properly.

Sarah and I had always been open with Amy about nudity. It was normal, natural, nothing hidden or awkward. But when it came to sexuality, we had a very clear boundary. So, waking up to Amy between us was a shock. I never had anyone over when Amy was there, no one-night stands or casual encounters. That line was sacred.

Amy's small voice broke through my thoughts: "Mommy's, can I sleep between you?"

I sat up and she crawled quietly to the middle of the bed. Sarah stirred, kissed her on the head, then drifted back to sleep. A few hours later I woke to find Sarah already up. Amy was dozing, and when I gently told her it was time to get up, she rolled over and went back to sleep a bit longer. I didn't mind.

In the living room, Sarah was sitting on the couch. She had made a pot of tea and was wearing her jogging suit. I could tell she had been crying. Her eyes looked tired and puffy as she glanced up at me, sadness written all over her face.

"Are you crying because your ass hurts?" I asked, trying to break the tension with a soft smile. Through her tears, she let out a faint laugh. "Come sit with me," she said. "We need to talk."

I curled up beside her with a cup of tea in my hands, my legs tucked underneath me.

"David and I are getting a divorce."

She looked at me, waiting for a response, but I didn't know what to say. I had seen it coming for a long time, and I had my own opinions about David, but voicing them now didn't feel like the right kind of support. So I asked, "Does Amy know?"

"Amy knows that mommy and daddy don't love each other enough to sleep in the same room anymore. But she also knows her daddy loves her very much, which is why he lives upstairs now."

Sarah absentmindedly rolled her empty teacup between her hands. I poured her another.

"Have you contacted a lawyer? Started sorting out the papers?"

She began to cry again, this time harder, and leaned her head against my shoulder, her body shaking with every sob. "We can't agree on anything. He wants custody of Amy, and he wants the house."

It was a lot to take in for a Saturday morning, and I needed time to let it sink in. The house was clearly Sarah's weak spot, but custody, custody was mine too. Legally, I had no rights to Amy at all. If it were up to David, I would probably never see her again. The fear hit me like a wave of cold water. I sat there shivering on the couch, trying not to cry. I wanted to be strong for Sarah, but the thought of a life without Amy was unbearable.

Sarah and David had signed a prenuptial agreement, but only for the sake of his business. It had been David's idea, of course. Logical, protective, forward-thinking, he'd called it. When it came to the house, Sarah hadn't thought twice. It had always been hers, long before David ever came into the picture. The walls had watched her grow up. It wasn't a line item, it was breath. Memory. Her one unshakable place.

But now, none of that seemed to matter.

David refused to leave. Claimed the house wasn't just hers. Claimed it was part of their shared life, part of what they'd built together. His office was there now. His mailing address. His receipts. He made it sound airtight, like she was the one being unreasonable.

Sarah tried to hold on, but it was like grasping smoke. He kept telling her she had no leg to stand on, that she didn't understand how this worked. That she'd walk away with nothing. And the way he said it, so calmly, so sure of himself, made her doubt everything she knew. She wasn't stupid. But she was tired. Too tired to parse legal language, too tired to argue over what should never have been his.

And I sat there, listening to her voice crack while she tried to sound like she still had options, and all I felt was fury. Not just at David, but at how carefully he'd orchestrated this. The work-from-home setup, the renovations, the timing, like he'd built his own case while letting Sarah believe she was safe.

This wasn't just a messy breakup. It was a slow, deliberate takeover.

And she was standing in the ruins of something she still called home.

We heard Amy go to the bathroom upstairs, and the conversation had to stop for a moment. But my mind couldn't let it go. How was this going to end? What would happen to that little girl caught in the middle? I had never loved anyone as purely and unconditionally as I loved Amy, and the thought of her being taken from my life shattered me. When Sarah and Amy left that Sunday evening, we hadn't had a chance to talk any further. But Sarah promised to keep me informed.

Crying, I called Tanja and told her everything. She offered to come by. When I opened the door, she pulled me straight into her arms. It felt good to have someone to lean on, to say it all out loud, to be held. When she left a few hours later, I wasn't as wound up anymore. The storm inside had quieted just a little.

The next morning, I found it nearly impossible to focus at work. My thoughts kept drifting back to Amy, to Sarah, to everything that might fall apart. After a few restless hours, I decided to take a few days off. Normally, I kept my private life to myself at work. Especially after everything I'd gone through early in my career, I'd learned to keep things close to the chest. But my manager knew a little about my personal situation.

When the weekly Monday morning meeting was over, I asked if he had a moment for me. He glanced at his watch and said he had half an hour at most, and told me to follow him to his office.

I gave him the short version. Told him that I was having trouble concentrating, that things were chaotic at home, and that I didn't think I could keep functioning like this. I said I was willing to take unpaid leave if needed, whatever it took.

He lifted his hands and shook his head. That wouldn't be necessary, he said. I could take a few days of personal leave, no problem. Then he pulled a business card from his drawer and handed it to me. It was for a lawyer, a mediator. "She's very good," he said. "My daughter used her last year during her divorce."

I handed over my projects to a colleague and took the tram home. Once I had changed out of my work clothes, I called Sarah on her mobile. She picked up almost immediately.

"I'm home," she said. "Call the landline, it's easier."

So I called her there. I told her I was taking some time off and that I'd been given the name of a good lawyer. Sarah had already spoken with her parents and they had agreed to help cover the legal costs.

What followed were a few harrowing months of back and forth, negotiations and emotional tug-of-war. Amy, once such a bright, carefree child, became quieter. More withdrawn. The sparkle in her eyes dulled, and her little shoulders seemed to carry more than a six-year-old should ever bear.

She spent almost every weekend with me now. Sarah came over often too. David had admitted he was seeing someone else, though he conveniently framed their breakup around Sarah's relationship with me. According to him, she had found all the adventure and thrill she needed with me, never mind that we hadn't explored anything like that in years. He said he felt trapped. Said life with a child and a partner had boxed him in, robbed him of the freedom to chase excitement, especially sexual excitement.

He brought up threesomes again. He said I had shut that door, and that he needed more, needed freedom, needed space. But the truth was, he'd never really communicated that to Sarah. Not in any real way. He didn't want to share her with someone. He wanted someone who'd play along with his fantasies without asking questions. He wanted control, not connection.

In the end, his reasoning was muddled and selfish, a string of excuses hiding the fact that he simply wasn't willing to do the work. Sarah's lawyer pointed out how little he'd been involved from the start, how absent he'd been during her pregnancy, how minimal his role had been in Amy's day-to-day life. He could have made a case for custody if he'd tried. But he didn't. He let it go quietly, without much of a fight.

The battle over the house, though, was messier than either of them had expected. Sarah and David had prenuptial agreements in place, mostly to protect his business interests. But the house, which Sarah had owned before they married, wasn't covered under those terms.

David had invested a lot in renovations, though. And because his business was officially registered at that address, he was able to argue that the house was part of his livelihood.

In the end, after six months of negotiation, they reached a compromise. David would stay in the house and rent it from Sarah. The rent was lower than market value, to acknowledge the money he had put into it, but the ownership remained with Sarah.

It was a bitter deal for her. Letting go of her home, the place that had held so much of her history, felt like a small heartbreak. But the arrangement gave her stability, and it meant Amy wouldn't have to say goodbye to the place that still felt like home.

David gave her time to find something new. They didn't need to see each other, and he had all the space he wanted. For Sarah, it wasn't so simple. Saying goodbye to her house hurt more than she liked to admit. The search for a new place wasn't easy either.

But two months later, she was offered a spacious two-bedroom apartment in the same neighborhood. It wasn't ideal, but it was something. And in that moment, something was enough.

The new apartment turned out to be perfect in many ways. It was just as close to Amy's school as the old house, which meant her daily routine didn't have to change much. Still, it was a big shift from the home where she had grown up. Everything felt smaller, a bit more temporary, and the memories seemed to echo more loudly in the new, quiet spaces. But it was better than the situation Sarah had been in. Most weekends, Amy stayed with me anyway, except when she was scheduled to be with her father. On some of those weekends, I would stay over at Sarah's place in Rotterdam. I missed the city more than I realized. I loved walking through the streets again, the rhythm of it all, or just sitting down for a drink in one of the cozy little cafés around the Oude Haven.

Amy loved staying over at my parents' house. Sometimes it felt good to have a night alone with Sarah, without having to be alert all the time, without the background hum of responsibility. My dad would come to pick Amy up and the two of them would head off together to do the weekend shopping. We knew she was being spoiled to bits, but my parents brought something into her life that she desperately needed, stability. And right now, that mattered more than anything.

Her father barely paid attention to her. After a weekend at his place, Sarah would always say Amy was impossible to deal with all week. Withdrawn, moody, full of anger she couldn't put into words. It broke my heart every time.

Things were escalating. Sarah had asked if I could stay the weekend with her. She never felt right when Amy was away with her father, and I understood why. That Saturday evening we decided to go out for a drink at a little bar near the Oude Haven. The atmosphere was soft and easy, and the weather had that mellow warmth that made the city glow a little. The terraces were packed, the boats docked in the harbor were strung with twinkling lights, and for a moment, it felt like we could breathe again.

Sarah had been teasing all evening. There was something playful in her eyes, something charged in the way she leaned a little closer every time we moved from one terrace to the next. Then, just as we turned a corner, she slipped something into my hand. It was warm. Soft. Damp.

I looked down and felt the jolt before I fully registered what it was. Her panties. Still warm from her skin, still damp from the heat between her legs. She gave me a look that made my knees weak. We were standing in the middle of the street, with people laughing and drinking all around us, and all I wanted was to throw her up against the nearest wall and lose myself in her.

I rolled the delicate fabric between my fingers and let the scent of her linger on my skin. I didn't say anything. Just smiled, wickedly, and tucked it into my pocket. We skipped the next terrace and started walking home. Slowly, because every few steps we had to stop, to kiss, to touch, to breathe. Her hand found my back. Mine slid along her waist. She wasn't wearing anything underneath her skirt and I could see, even in the fading light, a glimmer of pussyjuice along the inside of her thigh.

The walk, which normally took less than ten minutes, stretched endlessly. Every doorway became an excuse. Every shadow a shelter. Once or twice I slipped my hand between her legs, just long enough to feel how wet she was, how ready. She gasped, clung to me, whispered things in my ear that made me ache.

When we finally made it home, the door barely closed before Sarah pushed me to the ground. She climbed onto me in the hallway, her thighs on either side of my face, her hands braced above me. I was already breathless when she started to grind. She was soaking, and I was lost in it, in her. I reached for her, wanting more. Needing her.

Then we heard it, the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.

Sarah leapt off me just in time. I scrambled upright, still flushed, still dizzy with want. The door opened. And there was Amy.

Tear-streaked cheeks. A red nose. Her backpack hanging from one shoulder. She looked at us both, confused, then turned her eyes to me.

"MomAnne, why were you lying on the floor?"

Sarah, ever quick, stepped in before I could stammer a single word. Her voice was light, casual. "MomAnne had a little too much to drink, sweetheart. She tripped over her own feet like a silly goose."

Amy gave her a doubtful look but didn't press. She just sniffled and let Sarah pull her into a hug.

My heart was still pounding, but it had shifted. No longer with desire, but with worry. And standing there in the hall, watching the two of them, I knew, some nights burn with passion, and some with something much quieter, much heavier. Love. Responsibility. The weight of what's at stake.

The little girl looked at us with big worried eyes then suddenly threw herself into Sarah's arms crying hard. She wrapped her small arms tightly around her mother's waist sobbing so we could barely understand what she was saying.

Just like that the mood shifted sharply from closeness to worry. Something was very wrong.

I quickly freshened up while Sarah stayed with Amy. When I came back Amy was curled up on my lap a rare thing for her since she wasn't much of a cuddler anymore and she leaned half asleep half sniffling against me.

Sarah joined us on the couch sitting close and Amy settled herself across both of us her head on her mother's stomach and her legs resting on mine. We finally managed to calm her down and the story came out in quiet pieces.

Her dad had forgotten it was his weekend with her. After we dropped her off they went shopping together. He told her he'd have guests coming that night and that she should go to bed early. Usually that wasn't a problem. Her room at her dad's was nicely done up and she liked having her own space.

But that night was different. There had been a lot of noise coming from the living room. Amy wanted to tell her dad she couldn't sleep. Her eyes were wide and full of worry when she told me, "There were naked people everywhere and they were lying on top of each other and a man was licking Daddy's wee-wee. Daddy got very angry when I came in and he yelled for me to go to my room."

Sarah and I exchanged a sharp look. A tight knot formed in my stomach.

How did you get here I asked carefully.

I packed my bag and left quietly. It was almost the same way as walking to school she whispered.

Anger and fear welled up inside me. David should have protected his daughter. Instead she was out alone late at night and nobody noticed or maybe they did but no one did anything. Sarah became fiercely protective her gaze steady and cold.

You take Amy to bed she said softly to me. Then to Amy she said "Mommy will talk to you soon okay?"

Amy nodded clutching my hand tightly as she followed me. We went through the usual bedtime routine brushing teeth bathroom washing up. When Amy was tucked into her nightgown and settled under the covers she said quietly I think Dad is a bit scary. And those people too. I didn't know what to say and before I could say anything she fell asleep. I stayed by her side for a while watching her peaceful face trying to calm the storm inside me.

Back in the living room Sarah sat crying on the couch. I wrapped my arms gently around her and whispered "she's asleep". Her body softened against mine.

Sarah had called David but he didn't answer right away. She called all the numbers she had for him and was almost ready to call the police when he finally picked up. At first he was annoyed but once he realized his daughter had left his care he offered to come pick her up completely unaware of how serious the situation was. Sarah hung up.

The next day Sarah called her lawyer and started the process to have the visitation arrangement reviewed. She made it clear to David right away that she was ready to involve the Child Protection Board if he didn't cooperate. She was determined to prevent Amy from being alone with her father at all costs, even though David strongly opposed the idea of Sarah being present during the visits. Eventually, he reluctantly agreed.

Amy had been wanting to visit her father less and less for some time. The tension and drama made her tired and sad.

Thanks to an expedited process, the judge took the matter seriously and established supervised visitation. Two months later David was only allowed to see his daughter once a month for four hours, with Sarah always there.

David thought it was over the top, nothing happened and he didn't involve her in anything. That didn't matter to Sarah. What mattered most was that Amy was safe and felt heard.

Thanks to the new arrangement Sarah came over more often on weekends with Amy which gave us both some peace.

We'd tried to explain it to Amy as simply and gently as we could. That sometimes, people love in ways that aren't always easy to explain. That grown-ups can feel things for more than one person at a time. That love can be messy, and complicated, and still be love. She listened quietly, her small face serious, her eyes older than they should've been. Then she nodded, as if storing the information somewhere deep inside.

After that, she hardly brought it up again. Not directly. Sometimes she asked questions that felt slightly out of place, oddly timed. Like she was testing the boundaries of what she'd been told. But mostly, she just seemed to file it all away and carry on.

And for a while, things did seem to ease. The house felt calmer. The weekends flowed with more ease. She laughed more, clung less. I took it as a sign that we were finding our rhythm again, that the worst of it was maybe behind us.

At least, that was what I told myself.

It was another weekend when Sarah and Amy stayed over at my place. The moment I saw the sad little face of my daughter, I knew something was very wrong. She clung to me like never before and refused to look at her mother. When Sarah spoke, Amy snapped back, and when told no, she stomped off to her room. This was not her usual behavior. I looked to Sarah for answers. "Let's sit down," she said quietly.

Once we were seated, Sarah started to open up. Her voice was quiet at first, almost tentative, as if unsure whether she had the right to speak the truth out loud. She said she was tired. Tired of the endless tension with David. Tired of the flat that never really felt like home. Tired of waiting for things to get better. Tired of waiting for me to love her back the way she loved me.

Her mother had suggested moving closer to them in France, and what had started as a casual idea had slowly taken root in her chest. It had grown there, watered by disappointment and longing, until it began to feel like the only path forward.

She'd found a small house, nestled in a quiet village not far from her parents. It wasn't much, she said, but it was hers. And somehow, as if the universe had finally decided to throw her a bone, she'd been offered a job teaching Dutch at a nearby school. It wasn't perfect, but the salary was enough. With the rent David now paid for her old house, most of her expenses were covered. On top of that, they had finally agreed on a structured visitation schedule for Amy. David hadn't fought it, not really. Not this time.

She told me all of this with a kind of weary hopefulness, like she was trying to convince herself it was a good thing. Like saying it out loud might make it feel more solid, more real. But I could barely hear her anymore. Not really. My ears were ringing. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst through my ribs.

I felt the ground tilt beneath me. It was like someone had reached into my chest and ripped out everything warm, everything known. My greatest fear, losing Amy, was no longer some vague dread I could push away with logic or denial. It was happening, right in front of me. And I was losing Sarah too.

She reached for me, wanted to pull me close, but I flinched and pulled away. I couldn't bear the weight of her touch. I couldn't meet her eyes. I wanted to tell her not to go. I wanted to beg her to stay, just a little longer. But the words stuck in my throat like splinters. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.

I sat there, stunned, while she explained that the school had accepted her. That the lease was signed. That boxes were already packed. That this wasn't an idea anymore. It was happening. The clock was already ticking. What was I supposed to say to that? So I said nothing. I just sat there, holding the silence like a wound. Letting it bleed.

And she felt it. Of course she did. The frustration and helplessness over my silence flooded into her like a storm. And then it broke. She cried out all the pain and anger she'd been holding in for so long.

"If you say you love me and want to be together, I won't leave!" "SAY IT!"

I reached for her and held her tight, whispered every gentle word I could find. But inside I was breaking apart. Because she was right. I loved her, God, I loved her, but not in the way she needed. Not in that all-in, unconditional, plant-roots-and-build-a-life kind of way. I never had. It wasn't about her. It was something in me. A hollow space where that certainty should have lived. A fault line I'd learned to step around all my life.

I wanted to scream yes. I wanted to promise her everything she longed for. I wanted to believe I could become that person. But I knew myself too well. I would only make her unhappy. I'd pull her down with me. And she deserved more. She deserved everything.

And so I said nothing. Because even at the edge of losing her, even then, I couldn't lie.

Amy came into the room then, quiet and pale, and curled up between us. Her small body pressed against mine like a lifeline, and for a moment, we just held her. All three of us, silent, tangled up in the ache of something we couldn't stop from slipping away.

That evening Sarah and I lay in bed and I held her as if I would never let go. She turned me onto my back and came down on me with her full length. She did nothing to distribute her weight and the heaviness of her body made me feel safe. I also began to notice a sense of arousal in my body and the harder she pressed herself on me, the more aroused I became.

Slowly she sat on me with her legs spread and she began to ride back and forth over me. Her breasts she pushed on my head and my face between them. I just had to gasp or she would have smothered me between her breasts. I felt her burning and raw desire. She took all control away from me and I didn't even dare to resist.

I felt her juice running down my pussy and wilder and wilder she began to ride me. I wanted to rise up to meet her, but she resolutely pushed me back onto the mattress. We didn't need words to understand each other, and as a sign of surrender, I put my hands above my head.

She moved over and pulled my legs out wildly, it even hurt a little in my hips, but she didn't care. With her flat hand she gave me a firm smack on my pussy. Startled, I looked at her. I was shocked by the slap and the force with which she gave it, but I was also startled by the feeling it gave me. Besides the pain, I also felt a different kind of pleasure.

Now she looked at me questioningly though and with a small nod I indicated that it was okay. I trusted Sarah and it seemed like we needed to do it this way. We needed to be able to get away from each other. Sarah proved more adept at dishing out pats in all the right places than I could have guessed and soon my whole body was glowing. The taps were alternating with kisses and with her tongue she traced wet trails all over my body.

She tied my hands to the bed with a belt and I felt completely at her mercy. I just knew that if I wanted to stop, she would immediately stop for real. I did panic a little when she tied a scarf in front of my eyes. Gently she whispered, "just trust me." My nipples almost jumped from my breasts in pleasure and salacious juice dripped from my pussy, yet she barely touched my yearning cave. Playfully she pinched my labia or she pulled them apart a little, but it was no more than a little teasing.

I had the feeling that I would reach a massive orgasm in a matter of moments, but Sarah always managed to avoid it. As an additional reinforcement, she put the earbuds of my Discman in my ears and loud music was blaring in my ears. I was totally cut off from all sensory perception and only my body could feel something. Thinking was almost impossible and only Sarah's hands seemed to exist for me. I couldn't hold it back anymore and I noticed that Sarah did keep on going now. Her fingers were rapidly sliding in and out of my soaking wet pussy and with the feeling like I was going to burst, I came. I didn't even notice that Sarah turned off the music, untied my hands and removed the scarf covering my eyes. I was completely out of it, all I felt was the sensation of the orgasm that kept flowing through my entire body.

Sarah crawled on top of me, with her pussy above my mouth and still reeling from the intense orgasm, I began to lick her delicately. She moved her whole lower body over my face and I licked her from her little pucker to her clit and back. She always liked this very much and with a little moan she came violently as well.

My whole body burned from her blows and slowly she started kissing me from top to bottom. Every spot was being licked and kissed. As if she wanted to be able to remember every spot of my body with her tongue. She brought me to another orgasm and exhausted she fell beside me. She wanted to lie in my arms and that's how we fell asleep.

The next months were heavy, the kind of heavy that settled in my chest and refused to lift. After Sarah and Amy moved to France, everything felt strangely hollow. I missed our weekends together, missed the sound of Amy's footsteps, her questions, her quiet laughter when she thought no one was listening. And I missed Sarah. The weight of her in my days. Missed what it meant to move through the world with her within arm's reach. I missed the way she used to anchor me, the way her nearness used to settle something in me I didn't even know was restless. As often as I could, I got in the car and drove the ten hours south. I didn't care how far it was. I just needed to be near them

Sarah and I wrote e-mails to each other almost every day and I bought a webcam so we could see each other, even if it was through the grainy blur of a bad connection. The internet in their little French village wasn't half as good as mine, but it didn't matter. We made it work. It was all I had.

They weren't gone, not really. They just lived further away now. But even so, it felt like loss.

Most nights, after work, I'd pour myself a glass of wine. Just to take the edge off, I told myself. But one glass turned into two, and before I knew it, I was drinking almost every evening. It helped quiet the noise in my head, helped soften the ache of missing them. I wasn't falling apart in some spectacular way, I was just slowly fading around the edges.

I didn't go looking for love. I didn't have the energy to even pretend I could offer someone anything real. When I went out with friends, I sometimes ended up going home with someone, usually a woman, sometimes a man, but it was always fleeting. A little distraction. A little heat. Nothing that meant anything. Some of those nights left me feeling even lonelier than before. And honestly, a few of them felt like less than nothing at all.

And then the tightness in my chest came back. The tingling in my hands. That creeping sense of panic that I knew all too well. I called my therapist. I knew I couldn't do this one on my own. I'd held things in for so long, but this was different. The grief had settled too deep, and it was pulling me under. I couldn't let myself sink so deep again. There was someone I needed to stay strong for.

I was aware of what was happening inside me, body and mind both. I knew when to raise the alarm, when to slow down. But this situation was so far beyond anything I'd known that I had no real way to handle it. My drinking was part of it too. I saw clearly that it was a way to cope, a way to dull the edges of the pain. But I didn't want to add another problem on top of everything else. I kept telling myself to stop, to slow down, but the weight pressed too hard.

Eventually, after a long and honest conversation with my manager, I called in sick. I couldn't keep pretending I was okay. I needed every bit of energy just to stay afloat. Work would have to wait. This time, I had to choose myself. There was no other way through.

Tanja stayed close through it all. She knew how to sit with me in the silence, how to make me laugh when I couldn't breathe. She kept me upright, when I didn't know which way was up. Even though I spoke to Amy every day, even though I still saw Sarah now and then, I felt like something had been carved out of me. Not cut cleanly, but torn.

I had never known heartbreak like that. Not until then.