I stand in the kitchen with my heart beating so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs. The house smells like the roast I spent all day perfecting, candles flicker on the dining table, and the baby is safe at my parents’ for the night. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of me trying to be the perfect wife while my husband barely looks at me anymore. Tonight I wanted to change that. I cooked his favorite meal, cleaned every inch of the house, and slipped into the only lingerie I own, a tiny black set that barely covers anything. My breasts spill over the cups, my ass...