Page 32 of Absolution (Infidelty #3)

Jackie

“So, how’s it going?”

Kate asks, tearing off a piece of her scone like it personally wronged her.

“Jeez, hungry much?” I tease.

She winks.

“Doc finally gave us the green light to bang away and boy, did we.”

“Oh my God,”

I groan, laughing.

“You are a randy teenager.”

“Yes, I am,”

she says proudly.

“My mother has finally stopped trying to insert herself into my life, the kids are healthy, and my husband has never been better. In bed.”

I burst out laughing, almost choking on my tea. She laughs too, then settles, tone softening.

“So… how was it? With Kyle.”

I hesitate, fingers tightening slightly around my mug.

“Today… we went to Duke’s grave together.”

Her face softens.

“We laid down flowers. And then we just sat there. With each other. With our son.”

I pause.

“It was cathartic, actually. Peaceful.”

She nods quietly.

“I know Jemma and Iris are twins, but I can tell them apart so easily, by their voices, their hair, even the way they talk. I always wondered if I would’ve been able to tell with the boys. If Duke had lived, would I have known him from Levi in a heartbeat?”

Kate doesn’t speak. She just listens.

“When I told Kyle that,”

I continue.

“he said he couldn’t picture Duke as anything other than a baby. That wrecked me.”

There’s a moment of silence between us before I spot movement near the door.

“There they are,”

I say, nodding toward Trish and Lorelie as they step into the café.

Lorelie gives a small wave. She accidentally walked into our group thinking it was for the opposite and we kinda adopted her.

I hadn’t come in months. Not since the divorce. But ever since Kyle and I started therapy again… I don’t know. It’s been good. Coming back. Sitting with women who get it. Women I don’t have to justify anything to, especially not the part where I’m giving a cheating spouse another chance.

Don no longer comes so it automatically became a women’s only group.

“Still warm,”

Trish says, setting down a tray of muffins like she baked them.

“Lorelie, try the cranberry,”

Kate says, already halfway through hers.

“Ok.”

Lorelie grins, reaching for the cranberry muffin.

As the chatter picks up again, I lean back, letting the moment settle into that soft hum of comfort and sugar and shared gossip.

Then, when the conversation dips just a little, I say.

“I have a date tonight.”

Three heads swivel toward me.

“With Kyle?”

Kate asks, her brow raised like she already knows the answer.

“Yes. With Kyle,” I nod.

“You finally said yes,”

Trish says, grinning wide.

“I did,”

I admit, smiling but feeling the nerves flutter just beneath it.

“The kids have a birthday sleepover, so… we’re doing it tonight.”

“You haven’t told them?”

Trish asks.

“God, no,”

I say quickly.

“They barely survived the breakup. We don’t want to get their hopes up unless…”

I shrug.

“Unless it’s real.”

“I get it,”

Kate says gently.

Lorelie tilts her head.

“You have kids too, Kate?”

Kate smiles.

“Yep. Two boys. Loud, messy, and perfect.”

Then Lorelie turns to me.

“And you have three?”

I hold her gaze.

“I have four. One is with the angels,”

I say, voice steady.

“The others are absolute terrors.”

“Oh,”

she says softly.

For so long I used to awkwardly change the subject whenever someone asked how many kids I had. Say three. Pretend it didn’t ache every time. Not anymore. I have four children. That’s it.

Kate squeezes my arm. No pity, just silent support. She gets it.

“Tonight,”

I say.

“I’ll go on a date with the man who broke my heart. And for the first time, I don’t feel ashamed about still loving him. Doesn’t mean I trust him yet.”

“Baby steps,”

Trish says.

“No,”

I smile.

“High heels. I’m dressing up tonight.”

Laughter bubbles around the table. But the weight of what was said stays. Quiet and warm.

After a while, we hug goodbye. These women have become my lifeline in a chapter I never thought would be written. A chapter I didn’t ask for, but one I’m finally learning to live in.

Opening the closet, I sigh. It’s cramped, stuffed with things I should’ve donated months ago, and not a single item feels like me tonight.

Every hanger I touch leads to an oversized shirt. My go to outfit. I toss one hanger onto the bed. Then another. Then a hoodie that still smells faintly like baby detergent.

Tonight isn’t about comfort.

It’s about trying.

I pull out a black wrap dress I haven’t worn in years. It still fits, barely, and the neckline is a little deeper than I remember. But I stare at myself in the mirror and something flickers. Not quite confidence. But something close.

I run my fingers through my hair, put on a little mascara, and slide my feet into strappy sandals that make me feel like a woman again, not just a mother or a therapist’s favourite project.

Then I wait.

For the knock.

It comes soft. Two taps, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to show up here.

I walk to the door. My hand pauses on the knob. I take a breath, then open it.

Kyle stands there in a button-down and jeans, his hair slightly damp from the shower. He’s holding a box, and I recognize the label immediately.

He stares at me.

“Wow,” he says.

I smile, quiet. “Hi.”

“Hi,”

he says, then swallows.

“You look… amazing.”

“You’re not too bad yourself.”

We stand there for a beat too long before he thrusts the box in my direction.

“Your favourite.”

Smiling, I take the box of chocolates with a quiet thanks and set it on the table beside the door. Then I grab my purse.

“Ready?”

He nods.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

As we head down the steps, I feel my heart thud a little louder. This isn’t just a date.

It’s a test.

Of who we’ve become. Of whether love is enough to rebuild trust.

The restaurant isn’t fancy. Brick walls, dim lighting, quiet music humming in the background. Its familiar. Kyle had picked it once on a whim, years ago, when we were still figuring each other out. I’d teased him then for ordering the wrong wine, and he’d pretended to know the difference. He still doesn’t.

We’re seated in a booth by the window. Our menus sit unopened for a long minute.

“It hasn’t changed,”

I say, looking around.

He smiles. “We have.”

I glance at him, and it’s not flirtation in his voice. It’s something gentler. Observant. A little sad.

“I feel like I have,”

I admit.

“Some days I don’t even recognize the woman in the mirror.”

“I do,”

he says softly.

The waitress interrupts before I can respond. We order. When she walks away, I ask.

“So… what are we doing here?”

“Dinner,”

he says with a little shrug, but there’s more behind it.

“Kyle.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Trying. That’s what we’re doing. I don’t expect this to fix anything. I just… I wanted to be with you tonight. Without therapy, without the kids between us. Just you and me.”

I nod slowly.

“And if we crash and burn halfway through dessert?”

“Then at least we tried,”

he says, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth.

“But I don’t think we will.”

Once our drinks arrive, he takes a sip, then looks at me.

“So… how’s school?”

“Good,”

I say, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

“Really good, actually. I only have a year left.”

“That’s amazing,”

he says.

“What’s this year looking like?”

I let out a breath.

“Tough. They really want us to have a working knowledge of the medical side, not just the imaging stuff. Like, I’m not trying to diagnose anyone, but if I miss something that shows up on a scan, someone could get hurt.”

His face shifts, respect, pride, maybe a little surprise.

“You’re going to be great at it.”

“You think?”

“I know,”

he says simply.

“You’ve always been the most capable person in any room.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Even when I used to leave my car keys in the fridge?”

He laughs, and I laugh too. It feels good, the way it used to.

He swirls his glass gently.

“I meant what I said earlier. About going forward.”

“I know you did.”

“And I know we’ve got a lot to work through. I just… I want to be someone you can depend on, again.”

I go quiet. Not because I don’t believe him. But because it’s the first time he’s said it that way. Not what he wants from me. But who he wants to be.

I let my fingers drift along the condensation on my glass.

“Let’s just get through dinner first.”

He smiles, but this time it reaches his eyes. “Deal.”

Our food arrives. We eat. We talk about the kids, about the future. Kyle makes me laugh like he used to, with stories from work and his latest clients.

Afterward, we walk outside. The air is cooler now, thick with the scent of asphalt and warm engines. Across the dark parking lot, lights flicker from overhead poles, casting long shadows. The lot is full, people trickling to and from their cars, some laughing, some quiet, just like us.

“I really liked this,”

Kyle says as we near his car.

“Me too,” I murmur.

He stops just before we reach the passenger door, gently tugging on my hand. I pause. His eyes are on mine, searching. I know exactly what he’s about to do.

He leans in.

It’s slow, familiar. Like muscle memory. Just like he did on our first date years ago, outside a diner, nervous and sweet.

But this time, my body doesn’t cooperate. I step back.

Not on purpose. Just instinct.

His face crumples like I just stabbed him in the chest with something dull and twisted.

He blinks, then steps away, dropping my hand.

“Right. Sorry.”

“Kyle,”

I start, but my voice wavers. I don’t know how to finish the sentence. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.

He doesn’t look at me.

“It’s fine.”

“No,”

I say, stepping toward him.

“It’s not fine. I just…”

He finally meets my gaze, eyes tired and sad in a way that guts me.

“You’re never gonna forgive me, are you?”

I don’t answer right away. My eyes lift to the sky instead, watching stars glitter above us, cold and still.

“I have forgiven what you did,”

I say quietly.

“I just can’t forget it.”

He swallows hard.

“I wanted this,”

I go on.

“Tonight. Us. But the thought that you’ve done this with other women. Kyle, it lives in me now. I can’t look at you and not see that. I wish I could.”

His hand drags through his hair, rough and frustrated.

“I never kissed them.”

I blink.

He gestures vaguely toward the restaurant.

“I never took them out. I didn’t hold their hands or ask how their day was. They weren’t… they weren’t my loves. They weren’t affairs. They were just-”

He shakes his head, disgusted.

“They were my way of taking what I thought I was owed.”

His voice cracks.

“I fucked them. Okay? That’s the word. I didn’t make love. I didn’t even have sex. I used them.”

My chest tightens, nausea creeping in.

“I get it,”

I say bitterly, folding my arms.

“No,”

he says, stepping closer.

“You don’t. Those women… they meant nothing. I didn’t know their last names. I didn’t care where they came from, what they liked, what they feared. I honestly don’t even remember their faces. I didn’t want to.”

I stare at him. At the shadow of the man I used to trust with everything. A man I still don’t know how to hate.

“I wasn’t chasing connection,”

he continues, voice low.

“I was chasing oblivion. I wanted to disappear into something meaningless. I wanted to punish myself. Or you. Or maybe both. I don’t even know anymore.”

My jaw trembles, but I hold it together. Barely.

“I didn’t lose myself in them,”

he says.

“I lost myself in the moment, because it didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. You always did.”

I close my eyes. One, two, three seconds of silence.

“I have to go,”

I whisper.

“No, Jackie,”

Kyle says quickly, stepping toward me.

“I’ll drive you.”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

My voice breaks, tears threatening to fall, the lump in my throat too thick to swallow.

“Jackie, wait-”

He grabs my hand before I can turn. And then, he drops to his knees. Right there, in the middle of the parking lot.

On his knees.

“Please,”

he says, voice trembling.

“Please don’t leave me. I’ll do anything.”

My breath catches.

People nearby glance over. One couple pauses mid-conversation. A car door slams in the distance. But I can’t hear any of it, just the sound of Kyle’s voice, breaking right in front of me.

He clutches my hand, but not tight. When I tug, it slips free like he’s already given up.

I stare at him, his head bowed like he’s praying for a version of us that doesn’t exist anymore. My heart twists, but I can’t stay here. Not like this.

I take a step back. Then another.

He looks up, eyes red, face wrecked.

“Please, Jackie,”

he begs, louder this time, desperation flooding every word.

“I’ll do anything. You want to see other people? Fine. I’ll stay home. I won’t ask questions. You want to have boyfriends? I won’t stop you. I won’t say anything. I’ll wait. Just please, please don’t walk away.”

His voice shatters. His words crumble into sobs that follow behind me as I turn and walk faster, past the restaurant, past the strangers staring. I hear murmurs, soft whispers, someone asking if I’m okay. But I don’t stop.

I can’t do this.