He never expected it to go this far; but it was like he didn't know how to say no. Neither did you know to stop yourself.

You met Colm at a gathering in Saint Denis, nice little party that commonly happened around the end of the week. You were a common patron; he started coming three weeks ago.

You had laid your eyes on him very quickly. The first time you saw him, you felt horribly drawn. And so, when your husband wasn't looking, you slipped away and started up a conversation.

The two of you talked all night; swiftly turning to you confessing about your husbands mistreatment and how unsafe you felt. Colm had listened intent to your story, and offered to walk you home when you realised your husband already left the party with another woman.

One thing led to another—he walked you home, gave you some money, offered you his assistance if your husband kept beating on you—before he ended up in your sheets for the night.

Then another night.

Then another.

But, it was too good to be true. Or to last. Your husband had heard that you were walked home by another man that same night he left with another woman, so he dug deeper.

It was an uncomfortable letter to read; Dear Sir, I hope this letter finds you well; you see, that was my wife you decided to fu—

"How d'hell did he find out?"

Colm had gotten to your place as soon as he read the letter, needing answers; mostly how your husband found out. He had his suspicions.

You told him you didn't know, profusely and sincerely. He didn't buy it.

"Oh, stop crying."

He couldn't see the black trails of mascara going down your face, taking a seat next to you on your bed and wiping them off with his thumb.

"Lord, how do I say no to you?"