When Jill returned home that night, the house was quiet—the silence that made you aware of your footsteps. She strolled gently down the hall, stopping at the dining room to find Anna seated. Her petite figure curled into her chair as she completed the last portion of her meal. Another dish sat on the table, well-covered and untouched.
Jill entered the room slowly and placed her bag near the door.
"Hey," she said softly.
Anna looked up and smiled softly. "Hi."
Jill sat across from her and reached for her plate. The food was warm and freshly prepared.
Jill took a bite, and Anna leaned forward, whispering, "Your Mum's coming home soon."
Jill paused mid-chew. She looked up, confused. "What?"
"She called this morning to ask after you," Anna said with strange confidence. "She said she'll be back in two weeks."
Jill blinked, sceptical. "Anna, are you sure?" You know how she is. "She has said things like this before."
Anna shook her head resolutely. "It is not like this. "She meant it this time."
"You believe her?" Jill asked.
Anna's small shoulders lifted in defiance. "She wouldn't lie to me."
Jill hesitated, wanting to challenge that and explain how people, including mothers, can say things they don't mean. But staring at Anna's confident and cheerful face, she chose silence instead.
"Okay," she said quietly. "We'll see."
Jill finished her food without another word, then stood. "Goodnight."
Anna watched her leave, the sound of her little feet reverberating up the stairs. She stayed a little longer at the table, picking at her plate while her mind raced.
Later, Jill dragged herself to her room; the door creaked as she pushed it open, and moonlight filtered through the sheer curtain. Her bed awaited, comfortable and inviting, as fatigue crept in like a steady wave.
She got into the shower and let the warm water run over her body, relieving the knots in her shoulders and washing away the burden of thought. She stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Steam rose gently from her skin as the warm moisture met the cool air.
She dried her face, eyes closed.
That was when the lights went out.
Instantly, everything was consumed by shadow. The lovely buzz of the overhead light faded, and a shudder raced down her spine in the quiet gloom. She reached for the wall switch blindly.
Then she remained motionless.
There was someone in the room.
A figure stood watching her in the distant corner, still and silent.
"Who—?" she startled, but her voice caught in her throat.
The figure stepped forward. And as he moved into the light that poured from the window, she saw the face.
Her breath was caught.
"Curt?" she whispered, barely able to speak.
He didn't reply. His eyes remained steady. He raised a finger and pressed it gently to his lips, urging silence.
Jill's heart raced. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice trembling between relief and disbelief.
He still has not said anything. It's just his presence. Just that expression—the one he used to give when contemplating something he didn't want to speak out loud.
Curt slowly closed the distance between them, uncertain whether he should. It seemed he had waited far too long.
She did not move.
When he reached for her, he lifted a hand and leaned over her shoulder, as if asking a question. He stared into her eyes.
And Jill nodded.
Whatever transpired between them in that moment required no words.
Curt leaned in, and his delicate, timid, and searching lips brushed against hers. She replied, bringing her fingers up to his jaw and drawing him closer. The kiss deepened, slowed, and grew more tender. His hands moved to the curve of her waist, stabilising her. She leaned against him, a towel securely wrapped around her, as his warmth grounded her in the moment.
Their kiss grew more intense as his hands glided lightly across her body, the tension between them seething beneath the surface. Curt slowly untied the towel draped across her, letting it drop to the floor while they lay on the bed.
Jill lay naked in front of him, her expression revealing a flash of unease—but it was not resistance. It was a sense of vulnerability, a mix of dread and excitement as she gave herself completely. Curt met her gaze, his eyes gentle and steady, softly requesting permission. She nodded; a breath caught in her throat.
He moved above her, his body matching hers as if it were a rehearsed and intentional movement. His lips trailed from her mouth down her neck, lingering in the hollow of her throat, warm and trembling with each delicate kiss. Jill's back arched beneath him; her fingers tangled in his hair as his lips touched the slope of her chest.
Her breath hitched as he caressed her, timid at first, then braver as her groans became louder and more frantic, filling the air with a desperate yearning. It wasn't just passion; it was something gentle, tinged with want and the desire to be seen, touched, and claimed.
Curt's hands slid down her sides, fingertips following the contours of her ribs, hips, and thighs as if memorising her. Each touch was deliberate and dedicated, as if she were the only thing in the world worth worshipping. Jill's hands squeezed on his back, her claws scraping his skin, urging him closer with a faint appeal that emitted soft, breathy whimpers.
They moved together, wrapped in heat and emotion, with no rush or carelessness. Every breath, sigh, and touch rang between them, promising hunger, love, and something more than they had admitted up to this point.
Jill was no longer perplexed. She was completely open—body, heart, and soul—giving herself to him in a moment that felt too intimate to express.
Jill closed her eyes and murmured, allowing her body to sink into his. The world outside disappeared.
Her breathing slowed.
Eventually, she fell asleep in his arms, the gentle beat of his chest rising and falling like a soothing song.