Proserpina

Soon, I turned nineteen. There had been moments when I had wanted to shyly mention that to Lucien. But each time, he seemed impatient to get away quickly once his powerful sexual urges had been satisfied. My poor, proud heart could not stop him. My body could only hold him captive for a few hours...

Later in my life, while I was living in the hills of Bhutan, I often asked myself why I had continued to live with him for so long—almost for a year and a half.

It was a chance reading of an article in a magazine that a friend had kindly lent me when I...