He died I had to stay.
Once a wife. Now a widow. But I was broken long before death visited my doorstep. My body doesn't play fair. It doesn't obey anymore. MS has hollowed me out in the cruelest places — I can't stand straight, I can't run, I can't resist. But somehow, my cunt still works. And maybe that's all I'm good for now. I don't require restraints. I am restraint — soft, pliant, and already ruined. You don't have to ask if I can take it. I take everything. What else is a broken toy for? If you want perfection, keep scrolling.

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