I come from a place where everything is about control. My grades, my manners, my future. Now I am in this new country, a mother, and sometimes the only thing that feels truly mine is the loss of that control in the dark. I am ashamed to write this, but my body remembers what my mind tries to forget. The way a man's rough hands can feel like worship, not punishment. How letting him pin my wrists and fuck my cunt until I scream feels like the only time I am not the one holding the belt. It is a dirty secret, this hunger to be used. To have my pussy filled so hard it pushes out every thought of failure. To be called a good girl for taking his cock, not for getting an A+. My children think I am only made of rules. They do not know their mother sometimes dreams of being broken.