Page 23 of Absolution (Infidelty #3)

Jackie

It’s strange, how quiet the house feels without Kyle’s things scattered around. The air feels lighter, though not necessarily easier. Some nights are still hard. But they’re mine. My hard nights. My space. My rules.

The mornings start earlier now. I wake up before the kids, sip my coffee while the sun crawls over the kitchen counter. I’m still in school part-time, taking classes toward an Associate of Applied Science in Radiologic Technology. It’s not glamorous, but it’s mine. Something I chose for myself, not for a man, not for a family, just… me.

The kids are adjusting. Slowly. Iris still cries sometimes when she thinks I’m not looking. Jemma pretends everything’s fine, overcorrecting with cheer. Levi, ever the quiet one, watches everyone like he’s the glue trying to hold us together. But they’re doing okay. We’re doing okay.

And then there’s him.

Lucas.

We met at the campus bookstore, of all places. He works there and made some joke about overpriced lab manuals and I laughed, genuinely, for the first time in what felt like weeks. He’s nothing like Kyle. He’s not flashy or sharp or strategic. He listens. He asks questions. He doesn’t look through me or around me. He sees me.

It’s still new. Still cautious. We’re taking it slow, I don’t want another relationship, not now. But every time he texts good morning or shows up with coffee between classes, I feel something I haven’t in a long time: wanted, without condition.

Sometimes I miss Kyle. Not the man he was at his worst, not the lies or the silence or the betrayal. But the version of him that showed up in the end.

Towards the end of our marriage, even when I thought he had a mistress, he was more present at home than he’d been in years. More honest. More… human. It made no sense, but I felt closer to him during those last few weeks before the divorce than I had in the final four years of our marriage. Maybe because he finally stopped pretending. Or maybe because I did.

I don’t know.

Sometimes, I’ll catch myself making dinner and glance at the empty spot at the table where he used to sit. Not out of longing, just… muscle memory. Habit. Thirteen years of habit.

Lucas doesn’t try to fill that space. He doesn’t ask about Kyle, doesn’t compare himself. But he knows I’m not fully untethered yet. That part of me is still sorting through the wreckage.

I still dream of Duke sometimes. Still wonder, what he would look like. It’s like the truth about that night reopened wounds that never healed right.

I’m not over it. Over him.

But I’m over being betrayed.

And that’s the difference.

This week, the kids are with Kyle. His mother’s in town.

When Luna describe.

“a former model-looking woman in sunglasses and designer clothes”

showed up asking for Kyle, I knew exactly who it was.

I never asked if he’d told his parents about the divorce. It’s not my business anymore. But if I had to guess, she definitely knows now.

According to Luna, she told her he didn’t live here anymore. And that was that. I’m not going to let her get in the way. Not of my peace. Not of my evening.

I don’t have class tomorrow. No school drop-offs. No laundry piles or dinner plans. The house is quiet in a way I’m still not used to, but tonight, I’m leaning into it.

Lucas wanted to see a movie. I suggested we watch one at his apartment instead.

It’s not a grand romantic gesture. It’s not even a decision I made with much weight. But I packed an overnight bag. Lip balm, a t-shirt I actually like sleeping in. Just in case. No pressure. No promises. But something in me said: why not?

He greets me at the door with a soft smile and bare feet, a bowl of popcorn already in hand.

“You okay?”

he asks, as I step inside.

“I am,”

I answer. And I mean it.

Lucas closes the door behind me and takes my bag without asking. He doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t smirk or tease. Just sets it down beside the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The apartment smells like cinnamon and something buttery, probably the popcorn and I realize I haven’t felt this calm walking into someone’s space in years. No unease. No tension.

Just warmth.

“I got two options,”

he says, gesturing toward the TV.

“A documentary on sea otters or a really terrible rom-com with surprisingly good reviews.”

I smile.

“Terrible rom-com.”

“Figured.”

He settles beside me, putting the popcorn bowl on his lap.

The movie plays, but I don’t absorb much of it. I’m too aware of the way his leg brushes mine when he shifts. The way his eyes flick to me in the glow of the screen.

At some point, he lifts his arm onto the back of the couch. Not a move. Just... an opening. And I let myself lean into it.

His fingers slide through my hair, gentle and unhurried.

I turn slightly, my cheek pressed to his chest, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let someone other than my husband hold me.

When the credits roll, neither of us moves.

I lift my face to his, and for a long moment, we just look at each other. No tension. No guilt. Just space to feel.

And then I kiss him. Softly. Slowly. Like I’m stepping into a place I didn’t think I’d ever reach again.

It doesn’t spiral into urgency. It doesn’t rush.

I leave before he wakes up. No note, no lingering. Just the soft click of the door behind me and the morning air on my skin.

The next morning, I meet Trish and Kate for lunch after my classes wrap. I may not be part of the support group anymore, but I made friends there. Women who saw me at my worst and didn’t look away.

We’re at that little bistro downtown with chipped wooden tables and mismatched chairs that somehow make it feel like a hug. The sun is out, the wine is flowing, and I’m trying not to feel like a teenager sneaking home after curfew.

“Soo?”

Kate says, raising a perfectly plucked brow.

“How was it?”

I laugh, taking a slow sip of my wine.

“God, I feel like I’m sixteen again.”

“Oh, come on,”

she groans.

“Let me live vicariously through you. My sex life is currently locked behind a therapy-imposed chastity belt.”

I snort.

“The therapist still won’t clear you two to…?”

She shakes her head dramatically.

“Nope. Apparently, until we can make eye contact for more than three minutes without passive-aggressively quoting old fights, it’s a no-go. She says it’s ‘healing through restraint.’”

Trish raises an eyebrow.

“It’s for the better. You two got together as horny teenagers. Maybe it’s time to meet each other as adults.”

Kate blows a raspberry like a sulky kid. We all burst out laughing.

“Alright, fine,”

I say, setting down my glass.

“It was good.”

Kate groans.

“Seriously? ‘Good’? What is this, a Yelp review? Come on, was it like… good good? Or was it adequate but you’re too polite, so you say good?”

I grin.

“He was sweet. Gentle. Nothing wild. Definitely no fireworks.”

She winces. Even Trish looks vaguely disappointed.

“You need the fire,”

Kate says, pointing a breadstick at me like it’s gospel.

“Trust me. Nice is great. Nice is stable. But nice is also… boring.”

“Sometimes boring is exactly what I need,”

I say quietly, though I’m not entirely sure I believe it.

They both pause. Trish gives me a small, knowing smile before leaning forward, her voice gentler than it’s been all afternoon.

“Just don’t settle for nice,”

she says.

“You deserve more.”

Kate lifts her glass. “Amen.”

I glance at Trish, curiosity tugging at the edges of my chest.

“Are you ever going to tell us your story?”

Kate nods, eyes lighting up.

“Yeah, seriously. You’re like our surviving-cheaters Yoda. All wise and cryptic.”

Trish chuckles, but there’s a flicker of something else behind her eyes. Setting her fork down, she folds her hands.

“In my story,”

she says quietly.

“I’m the bad guy.”

We both freeze. “What?”

She sighs, brushing her thumb over the rim of her glass.

“My husband cheated on me, yes. That part’s true. But… I cheated on him first.”

Kate’s mouth falls open. Mine too.

Trish shrugs, like she’s spent years making peace with the mess of it.

“I started this group because I’m weirdly qualified on both ends. And also… because it was my way of honouring my husband.”

There’s silence.

“I hurt him first,”

she continues.

“And he didn’t leave. He forgave me. Tried, really tried. And I took that for granted. A year later, I found out he fell in love with someone else and I lost my mind. I acted like I was innocent, like I hadn’t already cracked the foundation.”

Kate leans back, stunned. “Wow.”

“I’m not proud of any of it,”

Trish says, her voice steady.

“But I know what it’s like to betray and to be betrayed. And I also know that sometimes the worst thing you do… isn’t the end of your story. If you’re honest. If you’re willing to do the work.”

She pauses, her eyes distant.

“I didn’t put in the work. After he stayed, I pushed it down. Pretended it hadn’t happened. We never talked about it again, not really. I didn’t earn his trust back. I just coasted on his forgiveness.”

She exhales sharply, like the memory still stings.

“That’s why I always tell couples to keep at it. Not just stay together, but actually do the work. Because staying doesn’t mean healing. And silence isn’t the same as peace.”

Kate is quiet now, even a little misty-eyed. I feel it too, how fragile all of it is. Love. Forgiveness. The illusion of moving on.

Trish straightens up, offering a faint smile.

“It’s not about being perfect. It’s about being brave enough to clean up the mess. Together.”

I sip my wine, feeling the truth of it settle in my chest.

That's what I'm trying to do now. Clean up the wreckage, not with Kyle, but with myself. Piece by piece.