I should report you, you know, tell them you’re the one who’s hacking our bank, but then you’d go to jail.’ She pushed a strand of black hair ...ut of her face. Her hair was everywhere. Eric had ruined the perfect French twist her long, straight hair had been bound up in, not to mention busting the seams at the back of her emerald green dress suit when he’d roughly pushed the material up over her hips only minutes before.‘Please don’t come to my workplace to fuck me again,’ she moaned, bracing. Most of our respective families thought we were tying the knot too soon and tried to talk us out of it. We married anyway and have never regretted our decision. Two kids and three grandchildren later made our life even better.But it was that morning ritual of him kissing my forehead that told me I was his and that he loved me. He never said “I love you” instead letting the act speak for itself. He worried his words would wake me and ruin my sleep so he kept quiet. It didn’t matter, I was awake. ’ That was the first entry in my journal. Westchester County, New York, December 31, 2000 It was 11:05, and I was in the basement of Jesse Pickett’s house, with what seemed like hundreds of my fellow 16 year olds, stuffed full of chips, soda and 6 foot hero, waiting for the ball to drop on the TV, and for another year to begin. I looked across the room, and saw Sammy, with his arm around his current girlfriend, Addison. Sammy was smiling, and why wouldn’t he be, with her in his arms. And. The result was me being a part-time dad to Heather and her younger sister, Rebecca (a wonderful result of the short marriage), and a part-time friend. I've never been much of the heavy-handed type, so, more often than not, the friend in me came out.As I silently reminisced, my eyes continually wandered from her flat belly to the two nubs poking her tank top. The circles around them were extremely dark. Heather rarely wore a bra around the house, preferring just the light tank tops or a loose.