Page 43 of Worship Him

She shifts, her head finding its way to my chest, her hair a dark, curly halo against my skin. I don't move to embrace her; I'm not sure what this is, what it means for us.

It's not tenderness that has us entwined like this. It's the aftermath, the calm that follows the furious downpour.

Destiny's eyelids flutter, fighting the pull of sleep that's threatening to claim her. I know the feeling well; the adrenaline that fueled our frenzy is ebbing away, leaving exhaustion in its wake, but something prevents me from sinking into that calm state.

Is it the uncertainty of what lies ahead? Or perhaps not knowing exactly where we stand. The loss of control is unfamiliar and I don’t like it.

I lie there, wide awake, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The scent of her hair fills my senses, a mix of jasmine and the faint, indescribable essence that is uniquely her.

It's a smell that's both foreign and intimately familiar, a reminder of what we once were and what we might never be again.

The weight of the day settles on my shoulders, the gravity of our situation impossible to ignore. The divorce, the company, the secret that's no longer a secret—it's a lot to process.

But in this moment, with her breath syncing with mine, the world and all its complications seem to fade into the background.

The clock on the nightstand ticks away the seconds, the sound loud in the quiet room. I watch the shadows dance across the ceiling, the residual glow from the storm outside casting a soft, ethereal light.

I know that tomorrow will bring a new set of challenges, a fresh battle to be fought. I also know I should get up, put some distance between us. But I can't bring myself to move, to break this spell of stillness that has fallen over us.

So, I lie there, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, feeling the steady beat of her heart against mine.

The night wears on, and despite my body’s best efforts, sleep finally claims me, pulling me under into a world where everything is simple and the only thing that matters is the feel of her body next to mine.

17

DESTINY

Iwake with a start, my heart racing as the events of last night flood back immediately. Adam's scent lingers on my skin, a reminder of our passionate encounter.

Regret and anxiety twist in my gut as I carefully extract myself from the tangled sheets. They feel cold in comparison to last night’s heat.

Silently, I gather my scattered clothes. My blouse is a lost cause, buttons torn off in our frenzy. I slip it on anyway, holding it closed with one hand.

"Shit," I mutter, searching for my phone. It's wedged between the nightstand and the bed. I pry it free, relieved I didn't make a lot of noise.

I tiptoe to the door, glancing back at Adam's sleeping form. His face is relaxed, peaceful. For a moment, I'm tempted to crawl back into bed, to pretend last night meant more than it did.

But I can't.

In the hallway, I pause outside Avery's room. The door creaks softly as I push it open. She's still asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling steadily. I approach the crib, my heart aching.

"I'm sorry, baby girl," I whisper, gently stroking her cheek. "Mommy made a mess of things. Again."

She stirs but doesn't wake. I stand there, watching her sleep, torn between my love for her and the confusion swirling in my mind.

Last night wasn't about love. It was raw, primal need. A release of pent-up emotions and frustrations.

Now, in the harsh light of morning, I'm left to deal with the consequences. How can I face Adam after this? How will this affect our fragile co-parenting arrangement?

I hear movement from his room and panic sets in. I can't face him now. Not like this.

Grabbing Avery's diaper bag, I hurry towards the front door, holding her sleeping form, praying he doesn't catch me in this walk of shame.

I see a pen on the small table near the door and scribble a hasty note on the back of an envelope:

"Adam,

Had to get home. We should talk later.

---