It's another Wednesday. Mary's watching her programs downstairs and I'm up here pretending to work. We haven't been intimate in years. Not really intimate. I mean physically, obviously, but also just... connected.
I didn't think I'd be the type of man to see escorts. Never imagined it. But here I am. Three times now since last autumn. Always discreet. Always careful. Always in Cork, never local. Small cities like Waterford mean everyone knows everyone.
Last weekend was different. She was younger than the others. Professional. Knew exactly what she was doing. Didn't feel transactional. Felt almost... tender. Which sounds mad, I know. Paying for tenderness. But that's what it was.
The guilt isn't constant. It comes in waves. Sometimes I think Mary would be relieved if she knew. Other times I feel like the worst husband in Ireland. But I'm not looking for drama. Just human connection. Just feeling wanted.
Christ, I shouldn't be writing this down. But sometimes you just need to get it out.