PART 2: My husband went to the beach for 15 days with his “best friend” and came back thinking I was just going to cry

back, my eyes flashing with a warning that stopped him dead in his tracks.

“If you touch me, I will call the police and tell them you are knowingly attempting to infect me. In this state, that’s a felony. Do you want a prison cell on top of a clinic bed?”

He froze. The fear I had seen earlier—that raw, primal terror—doubled. He realized then that I wasn’t continue reading …