She wanted him though, not me. So we became amicably parted, she moved in with him, alienated our son. I moved away. She wanted another man's dick and...evidently was getting it. I wasn’t included in her desire any longer and that was pretty final. She still looked stunning, only the show wasn’t for me. So rather than be a cuck and a snivelling weakling to boot, I decided it was best to re-start and just retire as a kind of ‘widower.’ Sure I’ve got millions and that is a comfort. As we just saw. I received a private message from her, saying how she really enjoyed my writing. I wrote back to her with thanks and a little personal note, as I do every piece of feedback I get, and instead of that being that, I got a response in return. This prompted another answer from me, and another from her. Before long, we were good friends. We had no idea what the other looked like, but we knew we liked who we were. I wasn’t gilding the lily when it came to personal facts, and I could tell she was. Most disturbing was the large, claw-foot (whatever material) bathtub they'd installed, hooked up to a drain in the floor, water stolen from city pipes. Bottles of bleach, both empty and full, were nearby.They'd killed, and did so often enough to have their own forensic countermeasures.That spoke to the intelligence of someone in a leadership position.Maybe that meant her hunt wouldn't be quite as boring as she'd expected.So there was the easy part of the end game.The hard part was acquiring the. They can't have much respect for us. Even dancing, the leering, the teasing..." Joe..." I'm sorry. Running clears my head. I could use it right now. Whatever I say, know I love you with all my heart." And Marianne and Mary?" I love them too, Marling. Not as much obviously. I probably could survive intact without them." Okay Joe. I'll probably be asleep when you get back." I won't disturb you." You rarely do."When Marta awoke she took the Mustang back north to the big log house where Margie.