I have ninety-nine problems. Literally.
I’ve lost my husband, my job, my home, and I narrowly avoided jailtime!
Now I’m back living in the place I loathe most.
Things couldn’t possibly get any worse . . .
Until problem #100 walks in.
Ripped. Rich. Handsome.
He’s a blast from my past,
Who appears to have no recollection of me.
Second time around that’s okay,
Because when I’m near his firm butt and tattoos,
I’ll use a fake name, anyway.
This time, I’ll be the one to walk away,
And I won’t leave my heart behind.