She's my only daughter's best friend. And the apple of my youngest son's eye.
I know deep down that she's only a child, but she seems so mature. So sensible. At least, until I have her panting my name, snaking her fingers through my hair, nails biting into my neck. She's out of her league here, and she knows it. But I won't admit it.
I push away thoughts of her with my children. I want to see a woman. But later, when I'm calm, I confront myself. The truth stings, filling my lungs with disgust.
She's only a child.
