Time seemed to lose its meaning as they lay entangled, their clothes in disarray beneath the bed.

Tears glistened in Cecilia’s eyes as she felt a hint of sobriety mixed with a daze.

Her slender fingers gently caressed Mark’s handsome features, and she whispered hoarsely, “Mark, no one can bully me.

In her heart, he was the only one, from beginning to end!

She cried like a little girl, her heart torn between wanting him close and feeling wronged.

Mark gently brushed his slender fingers against her glamorous face, trying to comfort her.

“Don’t cry, Cecilia.

in a low voice, his own

and the knowledge that it would be difficult for him

called

she seldom used, and when she had referred to him

©

the weight of their history together—a history that involved

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tenderly, their bodies seeking

tears were not of physical pain but of sorrow

indulged himself in

was because she couldn’t help calling him ‘Uncle Mark’ later that he

dormant love and affection, their passion reignited like gasoline meeting a

Cecilia

magnified before her, lying beside her in

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