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brOKEN THERMOSTAT

A Week Later

Timmy’s voice is calm, his eyes soft when he speaks, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like maybe—just maybe—things are finally changing.

“I’ve been thinking,” he begins, his eyes locked on mine. “I’ve been taking for granted all the amazing ways you contribute to our life.”

There’s a subtle tremor in his jaw, and then I see it—a single tear slipping down his cheek. It catches in the light, magnifying the brilliant blue of his eyes. He frowns slightly, a look of worry etched on his face, and I feel my heart clench in response.

It’s like he’s finally cracked open, finally seeing what I’ve been trying to say all along. His words are cautious, deliberate, and they carry a weight I haven’t heard from him before. It’s not just the content—it’s the delivery, the vulnerability.

“Margaux,” he continues, his voice trembling slightly. “I guess I just took for granted that you’d be paying rent and bills anyway, with or without me.”

The words land like a punch to the gut, and for a second, my hope falters. Really? That’s how he’s been seeing things this whole time? My brain can’t help but flag the entitlement dripping from his words—this casual assumption that because I’d already be supporting myself, he can simply slide into the arrangement, rent-free. Like my effort and financial burden are somehow expected when it’s our life.

I mentally file it away—another, not insubstantial, red flag—another ick.

But then, before I can dwell on it, he keeps going, his expression softening, as if he senses he’s on thin ice.

“But I see it now,” he says earnestly. “You make sure we have such a nice life, and I just want to say thank you.” His voice catches slightly, and I watch him closely, trying to gauge whether he really means it. “I know I haven’t been doing my part. But I promise you, I’m going to work harder, try harder. I’m going to do better by you—for us.”

His words, for all their flaws, carry the weight of sincerity. His eyes are still locked on mine, desperate and full of emotion. I want to believe him.

“You really mean that?” I ask, still cautious, but with a flicker of hope in my voice. “Because it’s going to take work on both of our parts. It’s not just about words—we need to be consistent with our actions.”

He nods, his gaze unwavering. “I’m ready, Margaux. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. And if that means working harder to make things right, I’ll do it.”

A relief so deep I can feel it in my bones washes over me. He pulls me into his arms, and for the first time in weeks, I let myself sink into his embrace. It’s as if he’s had some kind of revelation—a lightbulb moment where he realizes how much I’ve been carrying. To his credit, he has been keeping up with his therapy appointments, and he’s shared they’ve been discussing our issues. Maybe the therapy is starting to work.

He strokes my hair and presses a kiss to my temple. “I know I’ve been an idiot,” he murmurs. “And I know I’ve come so close to losing you. More than once. I get it now—if I screw this up, I’m going to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I can’t let that happen. ”

His words are everything I’ve been waiting to hear.

But still, a tiny part of me hesitates. “What makes it different from the other times?” I want to believe him, but he’s promised me real change before, and he’s backslid every time.

“I’m willing to change… for you.”

“Timmy,” I whisper. “You need to change for yourself. Not because of me. You need to want to change for yourself in order for it to be sustainable—otherwise it won’t last. And I’m here to support you. But it has to be for you.”

He grins, a spark of the playful Timmy I fell for glimmering in his expression. “See? That’s why I appreciate you. Holding me accountable already.” He tousles my hair, and for the first time in a long time I feel us slipping back into something familiar, something good.

He gently cups my jaw, tilting my chin up in a kiss that feels deliberate and deep. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you,” he growls softly, his voice dropping an octave.

I feel a surge of warmth spread through me, my pussy clenching in anticipation as he yanks off his board shorts, revealing his massive cock.

And for the rest of the day, I let all my troubles melt away, letting myself float in this new bubble of him—of us.

Timmy rubs my back, his hands slow and steady, working out the tension that’s been building for weeks. He kneels to soak and rub my feet, giving me a pedicure, laughing softly as he tries his hand at applying nail polish. “I love being able to do this for you,” he smiles, his voice kind, his eyes gazing at me with a tender adoration that reminds me of how he looked at me when we first met.

“Me too,” I smile back at him, the knot in my chest loosening. “Thank you so much, baby.”

It’s a small thing, but it feels monumental. Symbolic. And like maybe I’ve just never dated a guy whose love language was physical touch. I think the longest massage I’d received from a partner before Timmy was about thirty seconds.

“I’m going to rub your feet all the time, because you deserve it, my love,” he promises, his voice low and sweet. “And your back, and your shoulders. And give you scratches and tickles. And I’m going to eat your pussy every day like I promised when I proposed.” He gives me a wicked grin. “I should have been doing it all along, because I gave you my word. And because you deserve it, too.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, his words are soothing, his touch grounding me.

And we fuck, and he’s gentle—so tender it almost makes me cry. He goes down on me twice, his hands steady on my thighs, and uses my vibrator to bring me to a shuddering, toe-curling climax for a third time. When I squirt, he grins and groans with pleasure, kissing my inner thighs as my body pulses with an insane release.

In the shower, he soaps me up slowly, massaging my skin as the hot water cascades around us. His hands move with care, and every kiss he presses to my forehead feels like a promise—a silent vow that this time will really be different. When we’re done, he wraps me in a fluffy towel, his eyes shining brightly with something that looks a lot like love.

I sink into the warmth of it, allowing myself—for at least a little while—to believe that things can be good again. That this Timmy, the one standing before me now, is the real Timmy. The one I fell in love with. I feel adored, cherished, just like I did in the first few weeks of our relationship.

And for once, my mind is calm.

I don’t know if this change will last, but right now, I want to believe that it will.

And for tonight, I let myself believe.