My husband won't stop HUGGING me.

I think blunt force trauma to the head has cured my husband’s OCD.

Seb had always been weird about touch. He never held my hand and when we kissed, he’d pull out an antibacterial wipe.

We never had sex.

Every time we tried, Seb would break down, saying that physical contact with me hurt him. Eventually, he opened up about his first relationship in eighth grade, with a girl who didn’t respect boundaries.

Over time, I got used to it.

Seb was worth it.

He was awkward in a way that made me fall for him.

Seb started therapy, and slowly, because things don’t just change overnight, he began tangling his fingers with mine, even if only for a second. We came up with an alternative for touching. Blowing kisses at each other kept us closer.

There was an out of state clinic that specialised in Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

Seb was driving, and I was trying and failing to direct via Google Maps.

The next thing I knew, we were being run off the road by an eight-wheeler.

I remember blood. I remember screaming, half conscious.

Seb wasn't moving, his head lodged against the steering wheel.

I woke up in a brightly lit room. Flowers bloomed next to me.

Hospital.

“Seb.” I croaked, trying to wrench out my IV. “Where's my husband?”

“I’m here.” A shadow loomed over me, and part of me felt like it was splitting apart.

I started sobbing. Seb, with that stupid smile. His head was bandaged, bruises flowering under his eye. but he was okay. Seb greeted me with a soft kiss on the forehead. His lips were warm. Home.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, pulling my weak body into a hug. I had never been so close to him.

He felt like a puzzle piece that slotted perfectly into me. I swallowed my sobs and hugged him back, squeezing him to my chest.

When we were discharged, we went home.

Immediately, Seb was all over me, kissing my neck, his hand down my shirt, and I was so touch-starved that I dragged him upstairs to bed.

I was half-asleep when he rolled over, his breath warm against my ear. “Do you know what cancer feels like, babe?”

I didn't respond, and he sighed. “Like razor blades in my blood.”

“You don't have cancer,” I mumbled.

I felt him move closer, pinning me to the bed. “I don't anymore.”

My eyes snapped open, as his lips ran down my spine in a giggle.

“Do you know what filthy cash can get you, Melody?”

He traced my back. “An escape from cancer.”

His voice darkened, “an escape from a broken body, and a brand new one. Brain dead, yes, but that's what I'm here for.” He hummed, wrapping his arms around me. “Your husband’s body is perfect. Unbroken. I can walk! I can fucking *breathe*.”

Seb rolled onto his back and laughed. “I think I’m going to keep him!”

Comments

So my wife’s going to a gala tonight — as her client’s “date.”

I’m 44 and my wife is 44. She works on an art advisory committee, so attending galas, events, and client meetings is part of her job. She often meets clients for coffee, lunch, or dinner, and I don’t always know the details and that’s completely normal because it’s part of her work. She’s always professional, transparent about her friendships, and I trust her judgment completely. Recently, she mentioned she’s going to a gala with a friend, S. He’s a wealthy client she met about a year ago, and they became friends professionally. She introduced me to him once, and he seems like a genuinely good person. He invited her as his “date” to this gala, and my wife said it’s fine. I did ask her though, if she’s actually going as a “date,” and she just laughed and said, “Date doesn’t always mean romantic.” She said it’s important for her she could get networking and meet new people. Then she smiled and said, “If I get into this gala next time, I won’t need to take that man with me, I’ll take you...

The time I quit my job mid shift and walked out

Eight years ago I was working a customer service job that already had me burned out but one day my boss screamed at me in front of customers over something that wasn’t even my fault. Something in me just snapped. I took off my apron handed it to him and said “I’m done” Then I walked straight out the door and never looked back. Didn’t even go back for my final paycheck. It sounds impulsive but it was one of the most freeing empowering things I’ve ever done. Up until that moment I thought I had to just take it and that quitting mid shift was “unprofessional” But honestly that day taught me there’s a line between being dedicated and being disrespected. I was playing apex earlier and thought about how that single decision changed my whole mindset about self worth. It’s wild how one moment of courage can stick with you for nearly a decade. Still one of the best choices I’ve ever made.

I made my breast reconstruction surgeon cry with laughter

After the long process of a double mastectomy, I finally got my permanent breast implants in, and was very happy with them. As a bonus, I discovered that since they were put directly on top of my chest muscles, I could do a neat trick! I can “twerk” my breasts one at a time or together, making them dance quite vigorously! I went for my checkup and said, Hey Doc, look what I can do now…and showed off their bouncy dancing skills. He literally dropped his chart and bent over laughing until tears came into his eyes. He said I was the first patient to do that to him, and he couldn’t stop laughing the rest of the visit. I encourage other patients of this type of surgery to try it, it’s quite fun and entertaining. Edit: thanks for the kind comments and award, guess I can say I won an award for bouncing my boobies now. Note: for those who say video or it didn't happen, I get it, but I'm not going to post my boobs all over the internet!

Bimql chhetry.

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