He wiped my tear stain cheeks with honey dipped fingers. I wanted to be something he adored. A marmalade, a jam, no, his honey. I wanted to be the one he held at night. I wanted to be the one he called his light. I wanted to be his. All of his. It’s selfish, I know, to be another woman’s man’s honey, but my, god, no one understands what that man does to me. I hope his wife knows I’m sorry.