"I spent 16 years with her. It was weird, I know. We spent all that time together, and I never posed the question. But in that time, we lived together.
The sex was wonderful. If there was a person who could pleasure, then she was the one. Sometimes, we'd go 3 times a day, whether it be in the bedroom or the bathroom. Sometimes, we'd get kinky with the lotion or shampoo.
Then, one day changed everything.
It was one morning, she woke up feeling cramped. I decided to help her downstairs. I guess I was a bit hungover from last night, because then, suddenly, I lost my footing. Both of us tumbled down the stairs, and I ended up landing on her at the bottom. I was fine, but she looked really bad, so we went to the car and drove off to the hospital.
We spent a long time at that hospital. She lay there, and I would lay there with her. We'd barely talk, but I could tell how she felt. Literally every bone in her was broken, and her entire body was in a cast. I could feel the pain. She said it was my fault.
Then eventually, she wouldn't talk to me anymore, and despite the time I took to tell her that it was just an accident, she wouldn't listen. This went on for a month. Then, I realized that I had to move on.
And that's the story of how I broke my right hand."