Page 71 of Yearn
“Fuck. I am exhausted.” I let myself into the house and stood for a heartbeat in the hush.
It was the soft kind of quiet—no cartoon voices, no coins clattering from J’s pencil cup, no Oliver galloping a dinosaur over the back of the sofa. Just a single lamp burning in the living room, throwing a warm square over the rug.
Did Dominic put the kids to sleep too? Oh my God.
My heart warmed.
The phone call from earlier still ghosted along my skin.
I’d dialed with my pen in my teeth and a brief open in front of me because I knew I wasn’t getting out on time.
“Dom,” I’d said, already ashamed of the ask. “I will be late tonight. Can you pick up the kids—”
“I’m already on the way,” he’d calmly replied. “Don’t worry. Mondays are usually your busiest day.”
So simple.
He gave me no loud sigh.
No you-owe-me.
Just, I already got you.
Scott would’ve snapped, checked the time, not offered to help, and then asked whatIplanned to do about it as if our kids weren’t even his.
Dominic just moved and anticipated.
Meanwhile, the quiet after his statement of being on the way to get the kids pressed into my ear, heavy.
So much was unspoken in those seconds of silence.
We didn’t say anything about last night. We didn’t bring up the shaky little sound I’d made when his mouth found mine. We said nothing about him calling me Mommy and me jacking him off.
The nothing hummed with heat.
A second later, he whispered later and his voice was husky with lust.
I hung up and realized my panties were wet.
Only he could do that.
Now, in my doorway, I put my keys down quietly, like the house would wake if I clanked them.
The lamp hummed.
The roses I’d left by the fruit bowl had opened more and made the area elegant.
On the edge of the living room table lay an open children’s book—the one Oliver made me do all the voices for.
Aww. He read them a book before sending them upstairs for bed.
Guilt rose first, sharp and familiar.
I’d missed bedtime.
Then gratitude came, warm and messy, because Dom had stepped into the space I hated leaving empty.
Pride surged too, that ugly and necessary flame that said I was good at what I did today and that mattered.
