Free To Live Again by L. A. Witt

God no one at work knew or remembered or cared that it was my anniversary over the weekend. I wasn’t even sure I could cope with a sympathetic “That must be hard” or “How are you holding up?” today.
    The kids hadn’t called or e-mailed over the weekend either, and for that, I was thankful. They probably knew as well as I did that the best course of action was to let the day slip by as unnoticed as possible.
    Easier said than done, though. It had gone without saying, I thought, that my twenty-fifth anniversary would not be spent struggling to stay awake or feeling guilty every time I moved and felt a twinge or an ache still lingering from my first ever night with another man. I sure as fuck never saw myself spending that particular afternoon with a dildo and a stack of books in preparation for that man’s dick.
    Sitting at my desk, gazing at my familiar surroundings while I thumbed the bare spot where my wedding ring used to be, I took stock of the things that had changed and the things that hadn’t. The awards and certifications on the wall had been there so long, the fabric behind them was probably a few shades darker than the rest of the cube wall. The framed photos of me and Becky were gone. The ones with the kids remained, but I’d taken down the one of all five of us.
    Little by little, the divorce was sinking in. I was in the process of moving out while Becky continued living in the home we’d shared for all those years. In theory, we should’ve sold it as part of the divorce settlement, but she’d inherited it from her parents, so it didn’t seem right to take it from her. So, I was moving out. The lease was signed, my stuff was in boxes, and soon I’d move into a new apartment in a new neighborhood with a mix of old and new furniture, dishes, decorations…
    I sighed, overwhelmed just thinking about it all. An earthquake couldn’t have rearranged my life like this divorce had. And yet some things hadn’t changed. It was funny how it was the things that had stayed the same that felt the weirdest. Missing pictures? Fine. Body twinging and aching from sex with someone I’d just met? Cool. A commute from a different place via totally different roads? Whatever.
    But aside from the missing pictures, everything here felt exactly the same, and that left me off balance. Like a lone building still standing in the middle of miles of devastation, they may as well have been signposts reminding me of what used to be.
    “Greg?”
    I shook myself and looked up as Liz, a coworker, leaned into my cube. “Hey.”
    She tilted her head. “You okay? You were kind of staring into space.” Her brow pinched slightly. She knew what was going on in my life—everyone did, thanks to the office grapevine.
    “Yeah, yeah.” I laughed. “Just crunching some numbers in my head.” Eh, close enough.
    “Oh.” She straightened, grimacing a little. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Here.” She handed me a stack of folders. “Could you have a look at these before this afternoon’s meeting?”
    “Sure. No problem.” I glanced at them, comprehending absolutely nothing on the handwritten sticky note on top, and smiled up at her. “I’ll get on them right now.”
    “Thanks.” She smiled hesitantly, holding my gaze as if she were debating continuing the conversation. Fortunately, whatever was on her mind, she let it go, thanked me again, and left my cube.
    I set the folders on my desk, took a deep breath, and turned back to my computer screen. Life was going on. This was a good thing. My job was the same as it ever was, and the rest of my world would settle into place soon enough.
    And one of the new things in my life was definitely more distracting than the rest.
    Sailo.
    The hair on my arms stood on end. Sex was nothing new, but that kind of sex? With someone who was as patient and enthusiastic as he’d been? Someone who, at least for that night, wanted me? God, yes.
    Especially since yesterday, I’d given myself a