Riptide Affair

If you grew up in poverty, then perhaps you get me. You understand the necessity of microwave noodles five nights in a row, and counting out dimes and nickels to pay for gas, and the ominous beep a register makes when your card is declined. If that's the case, then I think you'll understand why I did what I did.

In retrospect, it was by far my most egregious error but that's where I met him.

The one.

Now, don't get too excited. I'm no soot-covered princess, he's no Prince Charming, and I've always hated fairy tales. That is, until my heart—traitorous heathen that it is—decided to fall in love.

However, there are no glass slippers in my great love story. No singing woodland creatures or grand carriages or kisses that raise the dead.

There is only a man, a tragedy, and me.

The villain.