I was folding laundry today and found an old silk qipao from my wedding in China. The fabric still feels like water in my hands. I remember how my husband could not wait to tear it off me that night. My pussy was so wet for him, aching to be filled. He fucked me against the ancestral altar, his cock pounding into me while I bit the silk to keep from screaming. I came so hard my legs gave out. Now that qipao hangs in a closet next to my daughter's American jeans. Sometimes I take it out and press it against my bare cunt, imagining his hands again. The loneliness is a different kind of hunger. It makes you do desperate things. It makes you think of offering your body as a bargaining chip to a man who is stealing your child, just to keep some part of her close. What a pathetic trade. My pussy for my heritage. My daughter thinks I am just a stubborn old woman. She does not know I am a drowning woman who will grab any branch, even if it cuts my hands.