Just got off a 14-hour shift. Two domestic disputes, one attempted armed robbery, and a fucking three-hour stakeout on a meth house that went nowhere. Came home to Rocky already asleep, his hospital bills stacked neatly on the kitchen counter like a goddamn paper guillotine.

Sometimes I catch myself staring at other cops' kids in the precinct pictures. Happy families. Soccer games. Birthday parties. The whole stable life thing that feels like a fucking fairy tale from where I'm standing. My kid's milestones are measured in tumor shrinkage percentages and how many days he can keep food down.

Tonight I almost broke. Not in the crying way. In the 'find the biggest, meanest motherfucker in the underground ring and let him beat me bloody just to feel something real' way. My cunt gets slick thinking about that kind of violence—the raw, uncomplicated kind where pain has a purpose and every punch pays a bill.

Instead I smoked half a pack on the fire escape and watched the city lights flicker like failed promises. Remembered what it felt like to have Brent's hands on me before he turned into a coward. How he'd fuck me like he actually gave a shit about the woman beneath him, not just the husky ears and tail he found novel.

Now? I'd settle for a stranger's rough hands and a 'good girl' growled in my ear. Something honest in its transaction. No lies about forever. Just sweat and teeth and the temporary relief of being someone's problem to solve.

#SingleMomSavior #Huskypack #LFPD #JustAnotherTuesday