"...A well-written novella that proves all relationships need work. If not nurtured, then like a plant they wither and die...A poignant tale that will bring a tear to your eye, for when a couple who were at first so in love teeter on the brink of divorce, what does it say for everyone else's chances?...If you have ever found yourself in Mya's shoes, or if you can sympathize, then this would make a great quick read for you. I enjoy Penny Dawn's writing style, and will undoubtedly keep an eye out for more of her tales."--Elizabeth, Fallen Angel Reviews
...No gossiping over Diet Coke today. Before the kids came home from school, she had to research divorce lawyers. Grounds for separation sounded off in her head—extreme neglect, irreconcilable differences, mental cruelty in forcing her to live in that crumbling house.
She looked ahead to the Kerr mansion. Maybe she should include adultery in the list.
If she believed Dale had fixed the gate for free, she might as well believe Sharon had paid him with currency of another kind. At least someone was getting something. How long had it been since he’d rocked her world? A month? Two? Maybe longer. Their mattress didn’t host much action in the humid summer months, and it had been too hot even to hold hands this season. Not that they would’ve been holding hands in an artic storm either.
He doesn’t pay attention to you? Show him someone who will...
What a way to spend their anniversary, mentally dividing furniture not worth a dime, and considering extra-curricular plumbers and attorneys.
She neared Congressman Kerr’s house and slowed her gait. All appeared quiet. The scaffolding now stood only on the west side of the house, as if bragging about the progress made in mere days, and the painting crew had gone. Harley’s truck was back, and because he wasn’t repairing any exterior trim, Mya assumed he was tending to something more intimate indoors. Better him than another woman’s husband—specifically Mya’s. She imagined Harley romancing her neighbor in a remote part of the house, Sharon’s knees pinned to her shoulders, and his tongue working fast between her thighs.
Mya should be so lucky. As she crossed the street on an angle toward her own home, she imagined today was the day she would be. Visions of a pleasing hunk—wearing nothing more than a tool belt and waiting beyond the door—danced in her head. Seeing as her husband kept a safe distance from the list of things to do at home, she had two choices. Take Bianca’s ridiculous advice and evoke some jealousy, assuming Dale would notice, or live with disappointment...