Even as the groping of his hands grew more purposeful, the door opened. Gaston raised his head in enraged and I pulled my damaged shirt across my exposed breasts.
Brad stood there, Gaston’s stepson. I felt myself go hot and then cold all over at the expression on his face as he openly leered at me.
‘Damn, can’t you knock?” snarled Gaston as I slipped out of his arms and began to leave.
“Still hot, isn’t she? Even after two kids?” sneered Brad as I slipped past him.
The crudity of the remark stunned me and I didn’t stop to listen to Gaston’s reply as I ran up the stairs, shocked and humiliated.
I wished then that I could take to my bed, sob my heart out and be comforted by the hero of my story like a heroine in a romance.
No such luck. Changing into a fresh, large shirt, I went to check on my children who were half asleep. Then I sat before the TV, staring at the blank screen, in a daze.
Gaston didn’t come to me that night.
8888888
After a fitful night, I woke to another grey morning. I remembered that the children would be getting their DNA swabs taken that day. The thought made me feel hopeless.
Later on in the day, I glimpsed Gaston as he returned from wherever he had spent the night. Without glancing at us, he went into his room on the second floor and left soon after.