She held her breath and eased the door open a fraction. His bedroom door remained firmly shut. Anxiety gnawed at her stomach as she chewed her bottom lip, her gaze drifting to what she'd initially mistaken for a window. Now that she was fully clothed and thinking clearly, hiding in a bathroom like some guilty teenager made zero sense.
Slipping out of the bathroom, she moved closer to the far wall. She realized the "window" was actually a sliding glass door leading to what appeared to be a wraparound patio. Her mind began calculating escape routes.
"Of all the times for me not to drive myself," she muttered, frustration bleeding into her whispered words. But even as the thought formed, bitter irony struck her. If she'd driven her own car, it would be sitting in his driveway right now like a scarlet letter, announcing to his ex-wife and children that Daddy had company. She pressed her forehead against the cool doorframe and released a shaky exhale that spoke volumes about her current predicament.
Her phone screen glowed as she checked the time. The minutes crawled with excruciating slowness, each second stretching into eternity. Fifteen agonizing minutes passed before worry began its relentless assault on her composure.What if something terrible happened to one of the children? What if a medical emergency brought them home early?
She crossed his bedroom with the stealth of a cat burglar and pressed her ear to the door again. Muffled voices drifted through the wood, but nothing was coherent enough to decipher. Another torturous fifteen minutes elapsed as she paced the confines of his room before desperation drove her to crack open his bedroom door.
Adult conversation floated down the hallway with Terry's familiar rumble and a woman's voice that could only belong to his ex-wife. She strained to catch fragments, her attorney instincts kicking in as she analyzed tone and cadence.Doesn’t sound like an emergency. No crisis.The woman was chatting about her job with the casual ease of someone settling in for a long visit.
As precious minutes continued their relentless march, Sandra felt irritation bloom in her chest like a thorny rose. The emotion made her feel petty and small, intensifying her frustration.
Terry's conversation with his ex-wife was obviously important. The woman deserved time with her children, even ifher unexpected arrival had turned Sandra's evening into a farce. Logic told her the anger wasn't directed at the kids, the ex-wife, or even Terry himself. But emotions refused to be contained by rational thought, something she often experienced with her clients.
Another glance at her watch revealed how much time had passed since she'd been unceremoniously banished to the bathroom. Time felt like a shameful secret, a dirty little indiscretion to be hidden away when real life intruded.
She studied the sliding glass door with a new purpose. If she slipped out and hugged the right side of the house, she could probably make it to the garage's blind spot, then sprint behind the hedge line to freedom.
Rolling her eyes heavenward, she bit back a bitter laugh. Even her teenage relationships hadn't required this level of covert operations. Her fingers found her phone with practiced ease as she scrolled to a friend. She ducked back into the bathroom sanctuary before dialing. "Margaret? You're not going to believe this, but I need an extraction."
"Are you okay? What's happening?"
"Just come to the address I'm texting you. Park two houses down and message when you arrive. I swear I'm fine, and I'll explain everything once I'm safely in your car."
"Roger that, babe. But I demand a full debrief afterward!"
The next ten minutes felt like hours as Sandra's irritation sharpened, cutting deeper. By now, almost an hour had passed, and Terry hadn't even attempted to check on her. No whispered updates, no reassuring squeeze of her hand, no acknowledgment that she existed beyond these bathroom walls. For all she knew, he'd forgotten about the woman his cock had been buried inside of before the interruption. She sighed and dropped her chin to her chest.Stop… he hasn’t forgotten… just… well, just not able to let me know what’s happening.
Her phone buzzed, announcing Margaret's arrival. Sandra found a piece of paper on Terry's dresser, ready to scribble a note explaining her departure. She poised the pen above the paper, searching for words that might capture the hurt and humiliation churning in her chest. But eloquence abandoned her when she needed it most. The simple facts would have to suffice.
She left the note on the bathroom sink like evidence at a crime scene, then eased open the sliding door. The evening air hit her flushed skin as she slipped into the gathering dusk.
Paranoia made her dart around the garage's corner, then sprint toward the hedge line in a crouch that would have been laughable under different circumstances. She stayed low until she reached the street, then straightened and walked with forced casualness toward Margaret's cherry-red SUV that gleamed like a neon beacon.
She yanked open the passenger door and collapsed into the seat with all the grace of a woman fleeing a crime scene. "Thank you," she breathed, meeting her best friend's concerned gaze. "And please, for the love of all that's sacred, just get me home."
"Absolutely, honey. But fair warning… I want every sordid detail of this walk of shame."
Sandra released a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Simple story. Dinner leads to his place. We're in bed, hitting all the right notes, when his ex-wife gets called into work and delivers the kids back home. No emergency, mind you, but after being shoved into the bathroom to hide for almost an hour, I decided to stage my own jailbreak."
Margaret's jaw dropped with theatrical flair. "Are you serious? He didn't even check on you?"
"Not once." Sandra's voice carried the weight of disappointment and wounded pride. "I understand he has responsibilities, but..."
"Responsibilities, yes. But treating you like a guilty secret for an hour? That's beyond rude! It's downright cruel."
The words validated what Sandra felt, a balm on her bruised ego. It was exactly what she needed to hear.
As Margaret pulled away from the curb, Sandra stared back at Terry's house through the passenger window. The evening that had begun with such passionate promise now felt like a master class in humiliation.
7
Terry braced his hip against the granite kitchen counter, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge. The scene unfolding before him felt inevitable, devastating, and completely beyond his control.Control?Hell, he'd lost that the second Patricia walked through his front door with the kids in tow.
This sure as shit wasn't how he'd planned his weekend. And it sure as shit wasn’t how he wanted the night to end with Sandra.
He'd planned to introduce her to his children next weekend. They would have pizza at their favorite restaurant, where everyone could relax and be themselves. Neutral territory, no pressure, just the beginning of blending the most important parts of his life.
