Craving What Was Never Mine

Today was hard. He was everywhere in my thoughts… like a scent you can’t place but feel wrapped around you. God, the urge to reach out was overwhelming. I felt it in my chest, in my fingertips. Is this what addicts feel? That relentless craving for something—or someone—you know you shouldn’t have but can’t stop wanting?

I didn’t give in.

I just let myself drift into the memory of us—those conversations that danced on the edge of fantasy and confession. We gave each other just enough to keep the connection electric, but not too much to make it real. It was like a slow seduction, stretched out over days and nights, threading into the quiet spaces of my life.

We were our own version of You’ve Got Mail—only ours ended in longing, not closure.

I remember lying in bed some nights, my husband asleep next to me, while my fingers typed secrets to another man. I should feel guilty. But I don’t. Not when my husband had done the same to me for years, maybe worse. I didn’t feel guilt—I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: wanted. Beautiful. Seen.

Still, I pray every day that this ache, this pull toward him, fades. I want peace. I want stillness. But I won’t pretend I regret it. I don’t. Even the choices I should regret—I don’t. They made me stronger. This will too.

Writing is my salvation. It’s where I breathe when the world gets too loud.

And even now, in the middle of all this confusion, I hold tight to three things:

— I am blessed beyond measure to have the love of my children and grandchildren.

— I am deeply grateful for the business I’ve built with my own hands.

— And I am proud of the woman who continues to learn, to feel, and to grow—even when it hurts.

I’ll keep moving forward. But tonight, I’ll let myself remember.