Independence Day. Fourth of July, 2013. My boyfriend and I snuggled, sharing a blanket, watching the fireworks show. Then back to my place, pop a cham...agne cork, sip from each other's glass. So romantic. Then to bed. And absolutely no fireworks. For either of us. So that next Saturday, July sixth, I went to this really nice lingerie shop and start picking out hot outfits for me to wear, guaranteed to bring fireworks from my man, and a spectacular grand finale, too (I hoped). So I’m checking. She did not enjoy them, beyond the happy knowledge that it was over. He would get off of her and she could turn away, taking some solace in the knowledge that she could put him off for another week or perhaps longer.She struggled to convince herself that this was all there was and to resign herself to it. For the last few years, she thought she had succeeded. She had owned her failure, taking full personal responsibility, resolved to the bleakness that filled her.Now the thing inside her had. More

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