Love Yourself First
SIRANYA HADN’T COME since her afternoon with Max. Hard to believe three weeks had gone by. Every millisecond felt like a million years. It’s always that way, when you’re waiting.
She’d told him flat out: “I can’t do this again.”
“Do what?” he’d asked.
He didn’t know her history.
“Be the other woman,” she told him. “Sleep with married people.”
He’d said, “I’m not married.”
“No, but you’ve got a girlfriend. You just spent three hours complaining about her.”
A bit of an exaggeration—it had only been two hours of complaining—but he didn’t call her on it. He stared at the wall like a lost little boy. Brought out Siranya’s maternal instinct. Her cousin just had a kid. At thirty-five, this was considered a “geriatric pregnancy.”
Geriatric! At thirty-five!
Wha
