Page 48 of Absolution

It’s been almost four weeks since I found out. Four weeks of pretending. Of swallowing every scream. I’ve tried to act normal around him, like I don’t know what he’s doing when he stays late in the office or takes his phone into the bathroom. But I’m sure he senses something.

The last few times he tried to initiate something in bed, I made excuses, headache, exhaustion, an early class. But he’s going to break soon. We haven't gone this long without… ever.

And I just... can’t bring myself to let him touch me.

God, what a joke.Hecheats, andI’mthe one drowning in shame and disgust. Miserable.

So, yeah, I did something morally grey. Definitely illegal. But worth it? Yes. Just to make him a little miserable, too.

The day Kyle got back from Boston, I shared something with Marianne. Just a passing comment, about how Kyle will expect sex. Some things you only say to your sister. And boy, did she come through.

Turns out, the same meds our mom was prescribed for menopause, but never opened, affect men a little differently.

Let’s just say... Kyle’s about to have a little trouble rising to the occasion.

I smirk to myself at the red light, fingers tapping the steering wheel.

No, it’s not a permanent solution. But the idea of him trying to screw one of his little whores and not being able to? That knowledge is like a shot of espresso to my soul.

Oh, how times change. You take the joy where you can get it.

This morning, he muttered something about how sore his nipples were, “must’ve hit chest day too hard.” I nearly choked on my coffee.

Poor thing. Wait until next week.

I get home around three. The house is quiet, too quiet for a weekday afternoon and I pause at the door, almost suspicious.

It’s strange, coming home to a clean house. Luna, the nanny we hired part-time, was technically only supposed to get the kids from school and stay with them until I get home at four. But the thing is, shedoesmore. Quietly, without asking. The lunch dishes are stacked neatly in the sink instead of scattered across the table. The floor doesn’t have a trail of crushed crackers or someone’s sock left behind. Homework folders are lined up on the side table.

The air smells faintly of lemon-something and chicken nuggets.

I drop my bag by the door and blink.

Is this what it’s like for men?Coming home and not having to do a damn thing?

No wonder they get lazy.

I walk into the den and find all three kids huddled on the couch with the TV on low. Levi's curled up with a blanket, sketching something in a notebook. Jemma and Iris are flipping through flashcards, probably a game Luna made up.

“Hey, my babies,” I say softly, and they look up in unison.

“Moooom” Iris says like I screamed it at pickup

“You’re home,” Iris says, when I lower myself to sit beside them. “Did class get cancelled?”

“Nope, just ended on time for once.” I brush her hair behind her ear. “Where’s Luna?”

“In the backyard. She said we could watch TV after we finished our math,” Levi says proudly.

“I hate maths,” Jemma adds. “And Levi won’t let me copy his answers.”

I glance up at Levi. He shrugs, but there’s a little pride in his eyes.

“You can do it,” I say, kissing her forehead.

Levi cracks a tiny smile. “I even put my plate in the sink.”

“Wow,” I tease. “Who are you, and what have you done with my children?”

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