At the age of sixty-two, I spent the night with a man twenty-eight years younger than me. I did it because I was tired of being invisible and because, for once, I wanted to feel passion. But when I woke up alone in the hotel room the next morning, I discovered something scary...

Twenty-five thousand dollars represented almost all the money Richard had left in my emergency savings.

For several minutes I sat on the edge of the bed of hotel, unable to move.

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The room still retained the slight scent of Julian's colony.

Just a few hours before, that smell had made me feel safe.

Now it caused me nausea.

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I looked at the photos.

There was nothing explicit about them.

But they were private.

In one of them was Julian guiding me through the lobby with his hand resting on the lower back.

In another, I was sitting next to him in bed, smiling for something he had told me.

The last photograph showed me sleeping under the blanket.

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I didn't need anything scandalous.

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I just needed to create a story.

A lonely widow of sixty-two years.

A twenty-eight-year-old man.