Chapter 1
Idaho Snow
The snow outside looked like powdered sugar, soft and still. But nothing about Kylee Waterman’s life felt sweet lately. Her once fiery sex life with Jake had frozen over like everything else in this new state.
From the window of her meticulously decorated kitchen, Kylee watched as her son, Jake Jr., tossed a football in the front yard, his cheeks flushed from the cold. Nine years old and already obsessed with the game. He practiced every day, even when the Idaho sky turned silver and heavy with snow. It was the one thing that got her husband, Dr.Jake Waterman, out of his surgical scrubs and into jeans on weekends standing at the sidelines, cheering their son with a smile that used to belong to her.
In the bassinet nearby, Kayla stirred, her nine-month-old face scrunching before letting out a gentle, breathy cry. Macy, their five-year-old daughter, sat at the kitchen island swinging her legs and coloring outside the lines of a Disney princess coloring book.
"Mommy, I hungry," Macy whined, smearing crayon across the counter.
Kylee smiled gently, brushing Macy’s soft curls from her face. "Okay Sweetheart. Just let me change your sister first."
As she lifted Kayla into her arms, Kylee’s night gown slipped off one shoulder. She caught her reflection in the microwave door messy bun, tired eyes, full lips slightly parted with exhaustion. The version of herself that lived in old photographs radiant, carefree, magnetic was gone. Or at least buried beneath the weight of diapers, schedules, and a husband who rarely touched her anymore.
Dr. Jake Waterman was a man whose presence still turned heads. Tall, clean-shaven, with perfectly styled blonde hair. In Louisiana, he was a high school football legend, Kylee's first everything. The boy who had once made her feel superior and kissed her in the locker room before games. Now, he was a successful plastic surgeon with his own private practice in Idaho.
He loved his children. But when it came to Kylee it was like he loved the version of her that existed before kids. Before stretch marks. Before the postpartum depression. Before the move to Idaho.
They used to live in the heart of Louisiana, surrounded by her friends, her culture, her heart. In Idaho, the cold seeped into her bones and into her marriage.
She missed the music drifting from open car windows, the smell of beignets, her sister’s loud laugh echoing in the kitchen. Here, silence reigned. So did isolation.
Most mornings began with chaos. This one had started no differently. Kayla had been up twice during the night teething. Macy had peed the bed again and cried when Kylee tried to wash her hair. And Jake Jr. had been late for school. The zipper on his favorite team hoodie stuck halfway, causing a meltdown that only Jake had the patience to calm.
Later that afternoon, as the girls napped and Jake Jr. played video games, Kylee poured herself a glass of wine. She sat on the back porch, wrapped in a blanket, watching snow drift onto the deck furniture they’d never used.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her sister lit up: old photos from Mardi Gras two years ago. She was in one of them laughing, wearing a glittery mask, her eyes lit with life. That version of Kylee felt like a stranger.
Jake walked in just after 3:30pm. "Hey," he said, holding up a takeout bag. "Thought I’d bring dinner. Chinese, from that place by the clinic."
She blinked. "You’re home early."
He shrugged. "Slow afternoon so I decided to close early. I figured we could all eat dinner together."
She wanted to believe it was thoughtful. She wanted to pretend this gesture was for her. But when Macy ran in squealing, and Jake Jr. jumped up to hug him, it became clear: the dinner wasn’t for her. It was for the kids.
Later, after bath time and three rounds of "Go the Fuck to Sleep," Kylee laid in bed beside Jake. He was scrolling through something on his phone, face lit by the screen. She rolled over in her silk nightgown, letting her fingers drift down his chest.
He sighed, locked his phone, and placed it on the nightstand. "You want to?" he asked, his voice low but indifferent. Not looking at her.
Kylee nodded, forcing a soft smile. Jake leaned in and kissed her, his lips dry, the pressure just enough to register. His hand slipped under her nightgown and cupped her C cup breast too soft, too clinical. She arched slightly to meet him, craving something more: a moan, a pause, a word. Anything.
He pushed the nightgown higher, slipped her panties off and moved on top of her, guiding himself between her legs. There was no teasing, no eye contact. His hips began to move in slow, steady thrusts. Not fast, not rough, just methodical. Predictable.
Kylee stared at the ceiling, her arms limp at her sides. She tried to focus on the warmth of his skin, the weight of his body, the rhythm that once sent her over the edge in minutes.
But it was gone. Her body responded out of muscle memory, not want.
He let out a quiet breath, still avoiding her eyes. No hand in her hair. No whisper in her ear. Not even a kiss on her neck. Just the distant sound of his penis smacking against her pussy.
She tightened her pussy around his penis, hoping to stir something in him. A moan. A gasp. Or him pulling her hair to get closer. But nothing changed.
A few more shallow thrusts, then he tensed. His breath hitched, and he buried his face into the pillow beside her with a quiet grunt. It was over.
He rolled off her immediately, pulled the blanket up to his shoulder, and turned away without a word.
Kylee laid on her back, heart beating fast not from pleasure, but from frustration. Her thighs were still parted, her body still aching for a release that did not come.
