It was her fault, she thought, when her husband asked for an open marriage. She wasn't enough for him. She wasn't what he wanted, but he wanted her, just not monogamy.
She tethered herself to the word: She is monogamy, monogamy is her, thus he does not want her.
He wants more vaginas than he can count on his ten fingers and ten toes, and hers is no longer desirable, only it is; just not hers alone.
It's complicated.
Tonight, he is with someone else. He texted her from some beer hall she's forgotten the name of. Said he's going home with someone. He'd be back late. He sent the address and a kissy-face emoji. Love you, baby, he wrote.