I was on the brink of turning thirty the first time I thought of Cyrus. the first time I knew I loved him, like really loved him, the way you would someone who you wanted to spend forever with. All he had to do was say my name, Rachel. I'd probably just melt. His warm, melting brown eyes staring back at me. Forever, if we could have forever. We'd be married with one kid or two or three kids. It wouldn't matter how many ch...

The lake house smells like damp pine and secrets that stick to your skin. Moonlight slashes through the curtains, turning the porch into a stage for the kind of sins you don’t confess. Cyrus is out there, sprawled on the steps, whiskey bottle loose in his fingers, staring at the lake like it’s got his answers. Or maybe his guilt. I linger in the doorway, my sundress clinging to my thighs, thin as a whisper in the humid ni...

The morning light filters through the lake house windows, soft and golden, like it's trying to wash away the night. I wake up first, tangled in the sheets beside Cyrus, his arm draped over me possessively even in sleep. Cleo's still out on her side of the bed, but her breathing's steadier now, the pallor fading from her cheeks. My heart twists—a mix of triumph and ache—as I slip out carefully, pulling on my sundress from...

In the kitchen, I unpack the groceries with mechanical precision—coffee beans into the canister, bread on the counter, wine tucked away for later—my mind replaying the scene from the bedroom like a cruel loop. Cyrus's voice, those words meant for me, spilled out for her. "Fuck, you feel so good... I can't stop this." My hands tremble slightly as I fold the empty bags, jealousy coiling in my chest like a vine, tight and th...