Ten Years Wasted on a False Promise

After my ninety-ninth failed attempt to get our marriage license, my boyfriend finally stopped pretending.

"I'm still young, Summer. I haven't had enough fun yet," he said, leaning back in his leather chair.

"You're plain-looking and have a flat chest. You're fine as a mistress, but as a wife? You're just not something I can show off to the world."

A mutual friend couldn't stand it and tried to talk sense into him.

"Summer stayed by your side when you were building this empire from nothing.