Sophie was looking straight at her brother, unsteady on her little legs - but proud. Her voice dropped like a ball on the floor.

“Ugly.”

Nathan’s eyes widened. He was grabbing his mother’s skirt, wanting to climb up before this rude interruption. Their mother Anne, sat on the couch, raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. She lifted a hand to put on Nathan’s back when a voice suddenly scared her.

“Enough !”

The man’s voice was loud - it was unusual for him to raise his voice. Standing next to the liquor cabinet, he put down his glass with force. The two children were paralyzed with fear.

“Why is it that they still fight everyday ?”

Anne watched the man’s back with little empathy.

“What have you been teaching them ?”

She didn’t answer him, her eyes wandering along his back.

“I shouldn't have left you in charge of this.”

“Of what ?”

Nathan was glancing between Sophie and his father, unsure. Sophie’s feet were petrified in place, her breath was very quiet. Anne beckoned the child to her. Sophie’s eyes followed her gesture. She took a small step.

“Taking care of my own children ?”

“You should have kept Marie-”

“Marie is still here.”

The man fell into silence. Sophie’s face and hands burrowed into her mother’s skirt. Nathan stole one of her hands, kept it inside his. He looked back at his father.

“I didn't marry you for this,” the man whispered.

“Who cares why you married me ? It’s done.” A faint smile painted Anne's lips as she watched the twins cling to her. “Why ? Do you regret it?”

Mockery at the tip of her tongue, the one she’d use to pleasure him at night when anger succumbed to lust.

Thomas raised his chin, but didn’t turn back to face her or the children.

“I could leave you anytime.”

He took a sip of whiskey. She wanted so badly to laugh in his face.

“Any second.”

Silence filled the room. Sophie was quietly crying in her mother's skirt, Nathan was eyeing his father as a foreign thing. Anne ran her fingers through her son’s hair.

“I know,” she said softly.

“Good.”

He finally moved from this awkward position and turned around to leave the small living room they were in. As he was leaving, he stopped for a second.

“Don’t wait for me tonight.”

Anne rolled her eyes. She waited for the sound of his steps to disappear in the corridor before pulling both children in her lap. She spent the rest of the afternoon kissing their faces and teaching them how to play cards.

**

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“The children asked for a dog for Christmas.”

“So ?”

She was laying there lazily, naked. He was sitting on the edge of the bed like a caricature of a god. As always, she was looking at him. Her cheeks were still red from passion.

“I'm getting one.”

Simple, really. He turned his head to look at her. She tried not to smile. It took all the courage in the world for this man to face her; perfect confidence in him being in control. That kind of faith only came to him after sex.

“You’re spoiling them.”

“Maybe I am,” she conceded.

He snorted.

“You’re honest tonight.”

She was always honest, she thought. But tonight she spoke truths he liked to hear. Like I’m jealous of the women looking at you. Like I want you to penetrate me deeply. He was easier to please in bed than in life - like most men, probably. She remembered Marie tell her Paul always complained about money even when they had plenty; it was never enough for him, he wanted to be part of the high society. He wanted something bigger, tastier; something that’d satiate the hunger and leave him waiting for more.

“Maybe I should be honest with you too.”

He stood up and walked around the bed to her feet. Her gaze followed him, the smell of sweat lingering in the air, the curled hair at the base of his neck, the movement of his thighs in the darkened room. He wrapped his fingers around her ankles softly, like tying a ribbon; put a knee on the bed as he leaned forward. He looked her in the eye.

“There’s someone else.”

As the last word fell, his muscles rolled under his skin. He strengthened his hold on her ankles slightly, as if he expected her to trash around. His jaw was tense with anticipation. He looked at her like it was Christmas - expecting her to bark, maybe. She held his gaze calmly. Her chest flushed in the dim light as she felt the chill travel from his touch to the tip of her breasts. When he was pulling antics like that, there was nothing she wanted to do more than fuck him into repentance. She’d show him true love, leave behind an empty bed; then disappear in the countryside with the twins for a few months. He missed her the most when he was guilty.

“As long as it’s not Marie.”

She liked Marie; it was bad enough than he was fucking around for him not to fuck her friends. All she wanted was a bit of decency.

“You know her,” he added.

Eyes looking fiery, his palms were hot. He was watching her like a hawk; ravenous, hungry for the smallest clue of her mask slipping. Sometimes truth is trickier than an elaborate lie, she thought.

“Is it Marie ?”, she asked again.

“No, it isn’t.”

The question seemed to annoy him, like it was a detail. That’s all that mattered to her, though; he couldn’t see it. That’s why he never won fights he started. He’d invent her weaknesses she didn’t have, and stay blindly unaware of the ones she had. Did he even know her when he thought the twins to be a burden to her youth ?

He bent over to kiss her above the knee. She hummed.

“Do you want to guess ?”, he begged.

She looked at him, then closed her eyes. Her eyelashes trembled slightly; his arms wrapped around her waist hurriedly.

“Do I have to ?”, she said weakly.

He burrowed his head into her neck avidly. The weigh of his thighs against hers, the heat of his desire burned her skin. She let out a comfortable sigh. He breathed heavily in her hair, blind to anything but her scent.

“Penelope,” he whispered like a mad man. “It’s Penelope.”

She whimpered and turned her head away; he kissed her neck immediately, trapping her under him with all his weight. His hands brushed off her skin to the places he knew to be the most sensitive, suddenly, wantonly. Lost in desire, in a hurry to ignite hers. To drown her into a pleasure far greater than the pain, but that would never come without it - because he needed to stay in control. He wasn’t. She fake sobbed when he penetrated her, he bit her skin. Her hand lost in his curls, the rhythm of his breath. She knew him. Even when he didn’t recognize himself, she knew him.

If he had known this, maybe he wouldn’t have lost the war so long ago.

**

“Mom.”

Two little heads wearing berets, two pairs of eyes watching her intently. Dressed in their school uniform, the twins were holding hands - like they would when they were nervous. The dog sat at their feet, tongue out. She asked Marie for a picture, Sophie kicked a pebble in protest. The dog barked.

“Come on, for me,” Anne pleaded as Marie took out the camera.

The driver was waiting patiently behind, looking at the scene with familiarity. Every year, it was the same. Anne would come out of the villa at the last minute in her pajamas, because she couldn't bear to see them go but she couldn't bear not to say goodbye. The twins would wait for her every time, stuck together like two pieces of glue while Marie would distract the dog to avoid him dirtying their clothes. Then Anne would show up and beg for a picture; the children would pick a fuss but eventually comply. The dog would always be in the picture, because “he was family”. Once the picture was taken, Anne would kiss her children relentlessly before letting them go. Marie was the one taking them to school, but before they all went, Anne always asked the same thing : a photo of her and Marie in front of the villa, to remember. Every family album had those two sets of photos to mark the passage of time.