I’m a walking contradiction, always feeling torn in two. At night, I make men weak and leave them wanting more. By morning, I’m a dutiful elementary teacher who adores the little ones I call my own. Co-owning a gentlemen’s club with my best friends was supposed to grant us all freedom.
So, why does it feel like my wings are being clipped, one feather at a time?
I wear a mask to protect my family from knowing where I spend my nights. I put on a brave face so my girls can’t see how the place that gives them freedom cages me in.
The hardest one of all to wear is the mask of indifference whenever he’s near.
The man I can’t have. The one who’s promised to another.
Every time I glance in the mirror, I see two faces, and I’m starting to forget which is my real one.
I tell myself that I can keep up this charade, that I can be two people—even that I can stop loving him.
But aren’t the saddest lies the ones we tell ourselves?