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So they blamed the chlamydia on a slutty hot tub; they took antibiotics, and the sexually transmitted disease that wasn’t transmitted by sex became history. She’d believed he’d been faithful because she’d trusted him. And because the antidepressant he’d been taking, for four years, had wiped out his sex drive. “My husband’s hair...it’s still in his brush,” a young widow, whose husband had died on their honeymoon, was saying...her words summoning Jeanette back to the purple orchid in the green cracked plastic pot. ”I should throw out his brush,” the honeymoon widow said. “But I can’t.” “When you’re ready to say good-bye to his hairbrush...” the counselor assured, “you’ll know.” The widows nodded. But Jeanette was watching an orchid blossom…falling from its stem; its sole survivor left to bloom alone.
----------------------------------------- End of Chapter Two. If you would like Susan to notify you
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