Every stolen moment she had spent with him had been laced with the edge of danger.

The quiet thrill of getting away with something.

She had been drunk on the intoxicating combintation of him and danger. Or maybe they were one and the same.

But in the days since she walked away from him, she felt a renewed sense of that same feeling.

That leaving him was an escape of sorts, was getting away with something.

She would never be able to articulate aloud the source of such a sweet bear hug of a feeling.

But, all the same, she knew what it was.

It was her subconscious quietly acknowledging the relief that came from the notion of a life without him.