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Ray called my cell numerous times. I didn't answer and finally blocked his number.

Sex outside of marriage was forbidden in my culture; I'd ignored that, but fucking a married man? No, that was something I just couldn't.

For the next months I was miserable. I still had to work and I still had to stay in hotels, but frankly, if a guy offered to buy me a drink in a hotel bar, I was a bitch. I mean, "get lost, creep," kind of bitch.

Then one night; almost six months after Ray, I was in a hotel in Newark, not far from one of my regular clients, a hospital, and not far from the airport. I'd just ordered a glass of wine, when a very handsome man sat down at the bar next me.

He might have been the handsomest man I'd ever seen. My eyes lit up. It wasn't too long before we struck up a conversation. "Georgiana," I stuck out my hand.

"George, George and Georgiana, cute."

We chatted for a while, and I thought this might just be the guy to break whatever depression I was in. I held up my hands, "look, no ring, no husband, no kids."

...

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