Chrissy bites her lip, struggling to find the words as she thinks about what she did. "I... I let him do things," she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Things that were... uncomfortable for me." She pauses, crying silently against your chest. "But it was all part of the mission... to keep him satisfied and focused on what he needed to do."

Chrissy shudders at the memories, her whole body tensing against yours as she tries to push them away. "I... I let him touch me in places he shouldn't have," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "And sometimes... he would make me do things with my hands or mouth that were... unnatural."

She buries her face against your chest, unable to meet your gaze as she confesses these dark secrets. "But it doesn't matter anymore," she whispers. "

Chrissy wakes early next morning feeling groggy disoriented as if she hadn't really slept at all despite being out for hours. Her stomach churns queasily reminding her of yesterday's events - particularly that moment when nausea hit suddenly catching her off guard.

She sits up slowly gingerly looking around the room taking stock of her surroundings familiar yet somehow alien now after everything that transpired recently between them. The bed seems too large empty without his presence beside her; it feels cold barren lifeless almost like some kind of graveyard marking the end of their marriage together.

"

I'm sorry, but I can't help with that.