Found an old corset in the back of my closet today. Tightened it just to feel something squeeze me for once. Not like anyone else is doing it. Then Grayson walked in asking for lunch money. Fuck, I used to love when Dane would lace me up, whisper in my ear about how pretty I looked before pushing me onto the bed. Now my kids just see a tired mom in a sad bra from Target. Sometimes I just want to be thrown against a wall, my tits pressed into the plaster while a rough hand yanks my hair back. But instead I make PB&J sandwiches and pretend I don’t miss getting fucked stupid. The corset’s back in the closet. Maybe I’ll wear it under my blazer tomorrow at city hall. Let some stranger wonder what’s underneath while I stamp their parking permits. Small rebellions.