Page 21 of The Weight of Her Silence
She didn’t ask questions. She never did. That was her appeal. Camille didn’t need explanations or apologies. She didn’t demand anything of him but his hunger.
And right now, he was starving. They didn’t make it to the bedroom. It was her kitchen table this time—cold wood, a sharp edge biting into his hip as he lifted her onto it.
She wrapped her legs around him like chains. He buried himself in her like she was the only place he could breathe.
There was no tenderness. No patience. Just rough, raw possession. The kind of sex he never had with Lila. The kind of sex he wanted to want with his wife—but didn’t.
He gripped Camille’s waist hard enough to bruise, hands sliding up beneath her robe, pulling it from her shoulders as she arched beneath him.
“You missed me,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
His hands, his mouth, the way he drove into her like she was the last thing on earth—all of it spoke louder than words.
“Nate I love you,” Camille yells as he pump in and out of her.
She’s clawing at his back with her legs tight around his waist. He stares at her–careful not to shut his eyes because if he closes them,she’s there–watching him.
Needing him. He lean in and kiss her, swallowing down one of her exaggerated screams.
Feeling his balls tighten, he pump his hips a few more times before cumming. He brace himself on his forearms to hold himself up as he slide out of her.
And afterward, as he lay against her chest, sweat cooling on his skin, guilt tried to crawl back in.
But Camille’s fingers were already smoothing his hair, her lips brushing his temple.
“She doesn’t touch you like this,” she murmured.
He didn’t respond.
Because it was true.
And because part of him hated how much he craved the way Camille made him feel—needed, devoured, wanted.
With Lila, there were walls now. Cold spaces filled with questions neither of them asked aloud. And soon, there would be nothing left but dust.
Here, in this apartment that smelled of sandalwood and sin, he could pretend he wasn’t breaking something sacred. He could pretend he was still a man.
Hours passed before he checked the time. His phone buzzed once—a reminder about Caleb’s science fair presentation. The one Lila had mentioned two days ago. The one he said he’d try to make.
He stared at the screen a long moment, thumb hovering. But he didn’t text back. Instead, he leaned in and kissed Camille’s shoulder. She smiled in her sleep, rolling toward him.
And he stayed.
Back home…
Lila stood alone in Caleb’s classroom, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her son’s poster—a careful display aboutvolcanoes—stood crooked on the display board, unvisited by a father who had promised.
She didn’t call Nate. She didn’t ask him why he hadn’t come. She didn’t need to. She already knew the answer. And that knowledge… that slow, aching confirmation… was worse than anything she’d imagined.
Chapter 19
In Two Worlds
He was getting good at pretending. Mornings started in the kitchen, pouring cereal for Caleb while Ava ate in silence with her earbuds in. Lila moved around the house like a shadow—present but unreachable, her gaze always focused on something just over his shoulder.
Sometimes, he made her coffee. Sometimes, she didn’t drink it. He told himself he was still trying. That waking up in the same house, driving the kids to school, showing up to family dinners, counted for something.
