Hugging tightly.

"Remember the day I was leaving the Boy’s Club and slipped on the ice," my husband laughingly asked. "Yes!" We giggled like goofy teenagers, reminiscing, turning the pages of our personal history. But the more pages we turned, the less we laughed. "No one ever hugged me the way you did," Danny said, "You squeezed me so tight." I remembered; because, before Danny, no one had ever really hugged me with care. "So what happened," he asked. We abruptly remembered that the hugging had ended. "You cheated on me," I said. I was pushing Porshai in a carriage through the projects when a little girl ran up to me and asked, "Is Danny still your boyfriend?" "Why," I asked. "Because last night Danny was sitting behind building 20 with Daisy and they were kissing." I phoned him. "I need to talk to you." "I'm at my uncle's," he said, "Come over." When I got there I asked, "Is it true?" "Yes," he said. I cried. After thirteen years I told him how I felt, "Danny, you hurt me." I paused. This was my chance to tell Danny the truth about me. "I have something to tell you," I said.