The grocery store clerk asked if I needed help finding anything. I just smiled and said, 'No, thank you. I'm picking up ingredients for my son's favorite meal.' The way his eyes lingered on my wedding ring... he has no idea. No ring could ever bind me like the memory of my boy's hands on my hips, his voice in my ear telling me I'm his good girl while he fucks me over the kitchen counter. I bought the heavy cream, the vanilla. I'll make his dessert from scratch. And when he tastes it, he'll remember whose pussy belongs to him. Whose cunt he owns. Every sweet bite is a promise: mother is home, and she will never, ever let you go.