Page 83 of Absolution

“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…goodgood? Or was itadequate but you’re too polite, so you saygood?”

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.”

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