Noon Wednesday, July 5th, 2023

The glass exterior of the building, the cold minimalist plaza entry, and the low hum of office activity weren’t unlike Garin’s office, or the offices she worked in over a decade ago. Lyrou sat in the sleek reception of Barbara Geithner’s law office in downtown Fort Lee, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her face was heavy and puffy, and she wore a weary numbness. When the secretary called her name, she jumped; it struck her ear as a sentence being read to the condemned. Lyrou’s feet were as though they were shifting under her, her hands stiffened and curled with dread. As she stepped into the office, she was greeted by Barbara Geithner, a woman who exemplified the very kind of life she’d once imagined for herself, independent and successful.

Barbara took Lyrou’s fingers in a feminine handshake, “Welcome. Lear-oo?” she pronounced it Anglicized as Americans do.

Lyrou nodded, “Yes, Lee-hoo.” In the correct way. And she took a seat the secretary had pulled out for her as Barbara returned to sitting behind her desk. It was a wide desk with guest-facing photos of the Geithner family.

Lyrou swallowed hard, forcing words past the lump in her throat. “Barbara, are you divorced?”

Barbara smiled gently, “1994. I was 23. I went back to university as a single mom, then to law school, and I remarried, but this time to my equal.” She raised her index finger with a stiff nod.

“My husband, Garin, and I are headed right into divorce. He discovered… my infidélité. I’m flawed. He doesn’t want us to try therapy. And I… I’m here to understand what options I have going forward.” Lyrou could feel the sharp sting of shame rise in her chest, but she remained composed, stepping off a ledge.

Barbara’s eyes softened only for a second, and she leaned forward slightly, her hands resting lightly on the desk. “New Jersey is a no-fault state. And how long have you been married?”

“13 years and a month,” Lyrou answered.

“Do you have children?” Barbara took notes pen-to-paper.

Lyrou nodded, her neck sweating at the thought of Alan and Penny, their faces flashing in her mind’s eye. “Two. Alan is twelve, Penny is ten.” Barbara scribbled a note, her pen tapping briefly against the paper. Lyrou suffered a surge of guilt toward them, the most blameless victims in this euthanasia of their hearts, this final putting-down of their family.

Barbara, with authority, “Then there’ll be a custody agreement. Do you anticipate either of you objecting to shared custody?”

Lyrou winced, she’d never want to take their father from them or foresee Garin wishing to banish her from their lives, “No. Never.”

Barbara wrote and spoke, “In your email to my secretary, you mentioned that you’re a foreign national. Do you anticipate returning to your home country permanently, and do you anticipate visiting your home country with either of your children?”

Lyrou really wondered, “I… I… might do either. I can’t rule that out. Should I?”

Barbara poked the air with her pen, “I’ll need to prepare an international travel agreement folded into your custody agreement, then. Understand that you won’t be able to leave the US for an extended period or take your children out of the US at all without first having it formally agreed to. If you do take them abroad without the correct process, you’ll say goodbye to your custody rights in this country once they ever set foot in it again.”

Lyrou nodded, “Yes, I understand.”

Barbara continued,  “Assets and debts?”

“We each have a car in our own names. We own a home, purchased together in our names while married. There’s… there’s also the residential building,” she began, her words hesitant. “Garin and I own a four-unit apartment building in Grantwood.”

Barbara peeping up from her notes, “Incorporated?”

Lyrou nodded, “It’s under an LLC, and we’re both listed as managers. Debts: a few well-managed credit cards, a couple of car payments, and a fair mortgage on each of both properties.”

Barbara shook her head, “The cars and credit cards are easier, the mortgaged building and the home are a bit complicated, but it doesn’t have to be. You can agree to sell either or both and split the proceeds. You can remain co-managers on the LLC, but with an operating agreement to split profits and expenses. He might also offer you half the value of the property in cash, suppose he were to do a cash-out-refinance to buy you out, and it would be up to you to accept. You might offer him the same, to buy him out, if you want the property to yourself. Or, you might tell him to keep the rental building to himself, and you’ll keep the house. One of you might do a small cash-out refinance and buy-out to make up for the difference in value between the two properties. Considering you have young children, the judge will likely want them to remain in the same home and in the same school with the same parent they spend most of their time with. You take the house, and he takes the rental building would appeal best, then he pays child support and alimony. As for alimony, do you hold a job?”

“I gave up my job when I got pregnant with our first child. I haven’t worked a job since.” Lyrou said, visibly embarrassed to say so to this accomplished woman.

Barbara gave a no-nonsense look directly into Lyrou’s eyes, “Lyrou, I asked if you hold a job. I didn’t ask if you work. Of course, you work. It’s called invisible labor, and you’re owed for it. That you’ve foregone your earnings and job experience to allow your husband to enjoy his income while building a full résumé and position for himself isn’t overlooked these days. You’ll get substantial alimony.”

“I don’t want Garin to… to.. hate me.” A tear shot out and off Lyrou’s face, and she closed up her eyes with both hands, her lips pressed, her chin wobbling.

Barbara came around her desk, snatching up a couple of tissues, one, two. She placed a hand on Lyrou’s shoulder and gave her the tissues, “Take a minute, please.”

Lyrou swallowed her feelings, as physically as if she were swallowing a bitter pill. “Merci.”

Barbara sat back in her chair, folding her hands in front of her, her expression no longer as soft but still calm and reassuring. “Alright, Lyrou, that’s going to happen today, and I can speak from long experience to say it’ll happen again.”

Lyrou let out a sad laugh, drying her eyes and nose, “Oui, it will.”

Barbara put her pen back to paper, “Now let’s go over the next steps, and I’ll make sure everything is as clear as possible. The process itself isn’t as complicated as it might seem, but it’s important to understand what to expect.”

Lyrou leaned forward slightly, eager to understand what came next, “OK.”

“First, if you decide to proceed with the divorce, in New Jersey, one of the spouses must state that the marriage has been irretrievably broken down for the last 6 months or more. Then you’ll need to serve Garin with the divorce papers. That’s if he doesn’t serve you first.” Barbara spoke with expertise.

Lyrou was frightened by the idea of presenting divorce papers to Garin herself, as in a television drama, the document and pen on the dining room table and the ensuing scream-fight, “I’ll serve him the papers?”

Barbara gave a little smile, “No, no. This can be by a process server, a sheriff, or through a private individual who isn’t involved in the case. We’ll use a process server. You can choose whether it’s done at his workplace or at his residence. Garin will have 35 days to respond. Then the time to dissolution depends on how smoothly you can agree to each point or compromise.” Barbara spoke expertly.

Lyrou’s guts knotted at the thought of a long, brutal divorce. “I think Garin will want it to go quickly. Barbara, I don’t want our children to see him being served, and I don’t want to embarrass him in front of everyone at his office.”

Barbara nodded, “In that case, we can ask the process server to approach him at his car at another location. You’d have to be sure where he’ll be and when he’ll be there, as it must be done in person, because there’s no leaving of envelopes under his windshield wiper. Does that sound feasible?”

Lyrou nodded, “If I give his car model and plate number, his parking garage he uses while at work, and the likely time he arrives and leaves that parking garage, would the process server be willing to catch him there?”

Barbara bit her top lip, raised an eyebrow, “I can request it.”

Lyrou shifted in her seat, “How much will this cost?”

Barbara clasped her hands together, elbows on her desk, “Now, as for my fees, yes. I charge a flat $8,000 retainer, which covers the initial filing, serving, and associated paperwork. Then it’s $550 an hour for my services. You’ll be updated daily and can access an itemized invoice online. How can you, a stay-at-home mom, produce the funds? There are multiple means, and I advise all of them together. We’ll request temporary alimony from your husband, as you’re financially dependent on him, to partially cover your legal costs. We’ll request that your husband contribute to your attorney’s fees as part of the divorce agreement. We’ll formally claim that you’re entitled to half of the monthly profits from your jointly owned residential rental LLC. Some people take out personal loans or borrow from family. But by leveraging both your rights to alimony and rent collected after splitting management, utility, and repair expenses, and through a retainer arrangement with a payment plan, you should afford my assistance.”

Lyrou inhaled, “Then it begins with a retainer agreement?”

Barbara nodded, “That’s correct. My secretary will email you a digital copy; you can sign it on your phone and bounce it back to her. You can do that today, tomorrow, next month, or next year. Whenever you’re ready to serve your husband. I’ll be here waiting.”

"I'm worried about, after my divorce, where my head will be." Lyrou didn’t ask a lawyer, but a fellow woman.

"You think you'll be lamenting those years upon precious incomparable years spent in love just thrown into Gehenna like they were nothing, but the sweet memories will remain with you, prompted by a thousand daily stimuli, and they'll be ruined knowing that in those happy times you were doomed and oblivious to your fate; repeatedly thinking through all the ways you could've done or said something different to have prevented the end and saved your all, but it'll be gone and can't be brought back." Barbara knew.

"That's it." Lyrou exhaled.

"But that's sunk cost fallacy, and it's felt by pre-divorce people. Post-divorce people feel something else; those years upon wasted years spent in misery, and you could've gotten out sooner. They think, how these precious, incomparable days of freedom could've been had sooner, and you only lessened your period of emancipation to have delayed the unavoidable break for the better." She knew it too.

Lyrou, noticing her free consultation time was soon expiring, stood, “Then I’ll think it over. I just.. is divorce a defeat? It feels like I’ve lost so badly.”

Barbara stood as well and came around her desk face-to-face, “When your union stands as your Pyrrhic Victory, your divorce stands as your Philippic Defeat. People who enter my office don’t have good marriages, not before they get out of the ones they’re in. Think about that.” Offering a gentle and warm handshake. “Thank you for coming in today, Lyrou,” she said, calm and optimistic.

Lyrou managed a small, tight smile, “You’re the first to make this path real to me.”

⚜

Morning Thursday, July 6th, 2023

Lyrou had been at her friend Reine’s overnight and came home in the morning after her kids were gone and off to school. She pulled into the driveway slowly, next to Garin’s car. He’d stayed home today. He wouldn’t do anything crazy like quit his job, would he? She was unsure if she should text Garin before entering. She didn’t know if he’d looked out the window and seen her pull in.

She wasn’t ready to tell him she’d been to a divorce lawyer, but he was smart and could guess that much. But had he? Deep in recursion, if she were to convince him of the course she wished for them to take now, then she’d have to not only mean it, but also seem to him that she meant it. She’d gathered a list of five marriage therapists, all specializing in infidelity, three women and two men, in case Garin would trust a man to be on his side, some near and some quite a drive north, in case Garin was wary of word getting around. Yesterday she’d called their secretaries, gotten their quotes, and learned some about their approaches, then talked them through with Reine. Would Garin object to the price? If so, then she’d get a job, if he agreed, and pay for it all herself. If she stayed in the car any longer, she might lose the courage to get out and go inside.

She pulled the handle, pressed the door open with her foot, and stepped onto the driveway. She stood for a second and looked at her home, then gently closed the driver’s side door. She walked up the steps and to her front door, scared. Her stomach churned and gurgled at a sudden thought: Garin was in there, living there, and this might be the last time. What if she went in there to find he had luggage packed? Why wouldn’t he? At this thought, she hated to have to open the front door. She pressed her face to the foggy-frosted textured glass of the front door window panel. She couldn’t hope to see much through there, and so she took the knob in hand, allowing herself in. Letting the door slowly swing open, she looked about for luggage and sighed to see none.

Stepping in, she saw him sitting at the dining room table with his laptop out. He was typing. She called his name but had lost her voice, “Garin?” repeating herself louder as she pressed the door closed behind her, “Garin? Can I come in?”

Garin looked over the top of his laptop screen, “It’s your house too.” Folding it down. “I’m here to talk whenever you’re ready. Kids had a microwave breakfast, and I couldn’t get away from work.”

Lyrou slipped her shoes off and walked into the dining room, setting her purse down and taking a seat across from him, “I’m sorry. I should have made breakfast for everybody.”

Garin shook his head, an expression as if he’d taken a bite of something bitter, “No, I’m sorry. I’d have made breakfast, but if I’m not going into the office later, I need to get ducks in a row earlier.”

Lyrou bit her bottom lip, “What will you do today, then?”

Garin pulled his car keys from his pants pocket and dangled them, “I was going to pick you up.”

Lyrou nodded, “Oui? You were? And then what?”

Garin shrugged, “Talk things out on a drive, maybe. We do have to figure it out.”

Lyrou clasped her hands together, “I’m so happy you want to figure it out, Garin. So do I!” And she buried her face in her palms, wiping her face dry, eyes and nose pink, “If you’re still working, then we can…”

Garin shook his head, “I’ll get back to it soon. Do you have something to say to me besides apologies and affections?”

Lyrou looked this way and that, then back to Garin, “Listen to my idea, please.”

Garin nodded, “I’ll listen.”

Inhaling deep and beginning to speak, “If it doesn’t work, then we’ll try something else. But we should do marriage therapy. I have a problem, and now I’ve hurt you so badly, because of my problem, because of my mental issue. I must fix me to fix us.”

“OK.” Garin acknowledged, chin in his chest, hands on the table.

Lyrou continued, touching her finger to his, “And you need to speak to someone, someone other than me, a professional with experience helping damaged spouses. You’re suffering more inside than I can see because of my problem. And it’s the last..!” Lyrou turned her face, covering it again… before turning back and continuing, “It’s the last thing I wanted to do was… harm you, Garin. You’ve done nothing to deserve it, and it was all me, my error and my lies, and my cowardice.”

Garin nodded, but it was a nod of disagreement, “OK.”

Lyrou rubbed Garin’s finger under her hand, “I called five thera…”

Garin pulled his hand away, “No…”

Her mouth popped open into an O, “No?”

He looked into her eyes, “Let me tell you why I’m not so inclined.”

Her chin quivering, “Oui.”

Garin held up his fist, showing the back of his hand, and his index finger popped up, “You didn’t seek therapy before you were caught.”

Her heart and lungs sinking into her guts, her liver rolling, “Oui.”

Garin smiled sadly, his eyes locked with hers, and, uncharacteristic for him, wet, “That’s one. Two, half of couples who do marriage counseling after infidelity divorce anyway. It’s the half who, like us, the loyal one wasn’t interested from the start.”

She whispered, “No… you are not interested in trying it?”

Garin continued, now three fingers raised, “I won’t have you clip your wings for me, missing your days of flight, only growing to resent me for it.”

Lyrou shook her head rapidly, her hair flipping, “That’s not it. I am... being set on fire. Immolated. Je..."

Garin continued, now four fingers raised, “You, fresh with dirt from digging in the neighbors’ yard and chewing whichever bones you cached, will not deny this dog his day, with or without you.”

Lyrou’s shoulders slumped, and she withdrew her hand from the table. Was he calling her a dirty bitch? “Do you want revenge? Recompense? Do you want to punish me?”

Garin’s face contorted, his voice raised, “Will you not be punished? Are you above it?”

Lyrou leaned back into her chair, body slackened, “Hurting me will not heal you. But if I should be punished, then it should correct me. I lied. I’m a walking lie. It’s for that you can’t trust me. And you’re right not to trust me. My husband, I’ll give you everything you need to trust me again. There is a tracker, it’ll connect your phone and mine, and a tracker for my car. You’ll know where I am every second of every day. And you’ll fully access my phone and its contents from your phone at any time you please. And you’ll turn on my camera and mic remotely to look and listen in on me whenever, any time you please.” Lyrou spoke rapidly.

“Any time I please, any time I please. It would not please me.” Garin scoffed, slapping his hand down on the table, rattling his laptop and an empty glass.

“I’d never be out of your sight, I couldn’t lie to you if I wanted to,” Lyrou assured him.

Garin stood, his chair tipping and falling back behind him, “Would you make me into a... into your parole officer? Do you need an ankle monitor? I don’t want to have you never out of my sight so that you can never lie! I want, as I ever did, an honest wife, like a normal man, an honest wife! A woman who keeps to the commitment she made.”

Garin began to pace the kitchen, trying to walk off his temper. Lyrou sat and watched him go back and forth. When he stopped at the sink, he turned on the tap and splashed his face. She stood from her seat, came around, and righted his chair. Then she picked up the empty glass, stood next to him, rinsed it, and placed it to dry in the dish drainer tray. She stood there beside him, looking out the kitchen window into their little neighborhood street: a Norway maple, a sparrow, a sidewalk, and a passing car. She wanted very much to hug him, but was unsure if she could. What harm is there in asking, “I want to hug you.”

Garin stood silent, “What would you take that to mean if we hugged?”

She thought a moment, “I’d take it to mean, ma raison d’être, you can still hug me and I can still hug you.”

Garin shifted in his stance, mulling it, his hand lifted and found the small of her back, and he pulled her in gently, “I can hug you.”

Lyrou’s brain flushed with oxytocin, she inhaled his scent, she closed her eyes and instinctively pressed her face to his chest… at which he turned and broke from her, taking up his laptop and retreating upstairs to his 2nd floor office.

⚜

Noon Thursday, July 6th, 2023

Lost. Not knowing what to do, where to go, or who to talk to. Lyrou grabbed up her purse, stepped into her shoes, and left. Not the car, non. She’d go on a walk and she’d clear her mind, to Veteran’s Park. The slight decline downhill was pleasant, and it was a truly pleasant day, but for the events. Crossing the street, she noticed the lightness of her purse and remembered she didn’t bring her novel. She turned midway through the crosswalk to go back and get it, but she’d come nearly the whole way, and she couldn’t bring herself to read now, and in the second after she turned back, she turned again en route to the park.

Coming into the park entrance and through the parking lot, she spotted more Tamils than usual, most of them senior citizens. Aha, they were in the baseball fields to play cricket. She busied her mind with their doings to give her brain a minute to reset. How can one think on the same problem endlessly and expect anything but to crash out? She watched aunties sun-shielding their eyes under their hands and palm leaf kai visiri fanners, the pitch, the swing, the crack of the cricket bat, the men in the stands cheering “Odi da, po da!”, the players running, yellowish dust kicked up, and some of it blowing her way.

Coming to a worn metallic bench on the water’s reedy edge, she sat, deciding she wouldn’t look at her phone. She’d see the world around. There were ducks and geese, there were fish skimming the river’s surface, and she had a lovely view of the George Washington Bridge. It occurred to her she hardly knew anything about the sacrosanct George Washington. She wondered, was he the one with the slave mistress and the slave children? Was he the one who lived in Paris and had all the French girlfriends? No, neither. The wood-teeth? Maybe. She thought if Garin were with her and she asked, he’d light up and spill forth with founding father facts.

Frowning, she asked herself, why didn’t she ask Garin that kind of stuff? Some husbands are ignoramuses who only know fantasy football, gaining lard, and getting laid off. Her Garin was absolutely the opposite in all those aspects. And yet women married to those sitcom husbands loved and respected them. Didn’t she love and respect Garin? What he’d said to her in the dining room echoed in her mind. But worst was that he called her out on not seeking therapy before he’d caught her. Why hadn’t she seen how stupid and conceited it was to grovel for therapy after being caught!? She thought, stepping outside herself and looking in, he’s right!

Lyrou slipped so deep into her thoughts that she was oblivious to all around. It was because she was desperate that she didn’t see it, the audacity of letting the words marriage counseling off her lips this morning. She cringed at herself, knotting her fists up into her face. She made herself believe he’d accept that because he just must, for things to be OK, he’d have to. But things don’t need to turn out OK. She’s not in a happy movie where you know the troubled couple will come through. This is real life. This is the end of her real life. What had she done? What had she done? What had she done?

Would it be better to set Garin free? Shouldn’t she? But would she then wonder for the next 40 or 50 years of her days on Earth if she could have saved them? What is it he wants? With a quick, nearing grassy thud-thud-thud, Lyrou was broken from her introspection by a large, lean shirtless man in tennis shorts nearly running into her where she sat. He leapt and caught a frisbee before it veered into the river. “I’m so sorry!” he turned, throwing the frisbee with force across the field to his friend many yards away. He turned for a double take, checking her out. “Hey, uh. Are you OK? You look… bummed.” He took off his sunglasses.

Lyrou looked up at him. He was handsome, and she hated that he was handsome. “Excuse me, that’s because I am. Thank you. I need time alone.”

On its return flight, in two steps and a swift motion, he leapt vertically and snatched the frisbee from the sky. Then, poised to sit beside her on the bench, “My name is..”

Placing her hand down on the bench to prevent him from sitting and curtly interrupting him, “I can’t talk to you. I can’t talk to you. Please.”

Half squat he stood, the wheels turning in his head. “Cool, cool.” And he jogged off back onto the green only to turn with a wave, calling out, “Feel better!”

⚜

Evening Thursday, July 6th, 2023

That night, Lyrou gave their children permission to eat in their rooms. When Penny asked why, she gave a bit of truth: “Your father and I are not in such good spirits to eat at the table tonight. Don’t worry, Pin-pin-pin.” To which the kids looked at each other clueless and took their leave upstairs.

She took a plate and a can of iced tea downstairs for Garin, finding him in the rec room. He was using the cable machine to do standing triceps pull-downs. Letting loose the bar, the weight plates clinking together, he turned and looked at the steaming plate. She held it out to him, “Coq a vin.” And he took it.

She sat across from him on the couch, watching him eat. Both were quiet until he was nearly finished clearing his plate. He spoke, “I’m also rethinking what I suggested.”

Lyrou perked up, attentive, “Yes?”

“If you don’t want it, then neither do I. And, if I hadn’t been struck so, so unpredictably hit so… like being perforated through with a lance, then I wouldn’t want it either. Then, do I want it? Will I want it after I get it?” Garin leaned back on the couch, pushing his plate onto the end table.

Lyrou leaned forward into a cat-crawl across the couch toward him, her hands finding his knees, “Mon trésor, it’s what you asked. I hate it, but then you also hate what I’ve done. If you want to lance me through in the way I’ve done to you, then… I can’t deny you what you asked.” She pulled down his gym shorts with his boxer briefs; he pulled down her bike shorts with her panties. She straddled him, guiding his erection to her entrance as she flexed at her knees and hips to tease the tip in, “I can’t deny you that. Not I.”

His head resting back, his breath smelling of the thyme, bay leaves, and black pepper she’d flavored his dinner, “I still adore you.” His words came so hurt and welcome. He pulled her shirt off over her head as she undid her bra. Next, off came his shirt.

Kissing him, then breaking to speak, “But! But if we do this… then it must make us closer.” Her heart hammered in her chest. The scent was thick and cloying, sweat and arousal. She leaned into him, “If you want to...” his hand moved to her throat, his grip firm but reassuring. “I’ll find a way to survive that… punishment,”  her eyes glazed with lust and apprehension. “Maybe by it, I’ll have some form of absolution.”

Garin leaned forward and spoke into her ear, “Then say it, tell me I have permission to have another woman. Can you say that?”

The import of his words sank in. His cock entered balls deep, the slick shine on it catching her eye. She considered the implications of what he was asking. “Garin, I don’t know if I can just give you permission. I know… but I never misbehaved with your permission. It’s different...so different.” She paused, her eyes met his. “But I do want you to heal the way you need to heal, to find a way to keep our love strong despite... this... despite what I’ve done.” Her body was trembling with anticipation and fear. “If we do this, it has to be more than just sex. It has to be for our relationship; we must grow closer together.”

Garin exhaled with lust and dictated, “Give me permission, Lyrou, my patience isn’t limitless.”

Her eyes flicked to the mirror, watching his face contort with need. His cock thickened within her, the intensity a tangible force. She had one last question. If his answer was yes, she would say no. If his answer was no, she would say yes. “Ma vie, if I don’t give you permission, if I say no, then will you do it anyway?”

Garin almost spoke before she had finished, “No. I would not. I couldn’t, and that’s what it would be.”

With a shaky breath, she lowered her gaze, “OK, yes.” She whispered. “How could I, of all women, say no? You have my permission.” The words hung in the air, in her core, the tectonic shift in their dynamic. His hand slid down her stomach, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip and over her navel. “But Garin,” she said with a tremor, “you have to promise me we’ll talk about it, we’ll face it together.”

With a long, deep, pleasurable exhale, “I promise.” Garin thrust rapidly, nearing orgasm.

Her eyes widened with the solar brightness of his promise, she felt about with her eyes closed, and her fingers found him; she pet his abdominals as they flexed with his climax. Her own pleasure built, a crescendo of sensations. She clenched around him, her body responding to the power he held. As he reached his peak, she whispered into the room. “Thank you, Garin.” He filled her, his seed an offering for his newfound freedom. His hand squeezed and then released her shoulder, his grip on her hip loosening as his movements slowed with the sound of their panting, their hearts in unison.

Pulling from her and pressing her butt down so she’d sit, he reminded her and himself, “I do adore you.”

Her body relaxed slightly as Garin’s climax filled her, his warmth melting away the frigid edifice of guilt. She took in a shaky breath, and he fell back and slouched into the opposite end of the couch. “And I you.” The room was a cocoon of quiet, the pressure dissipating as their breathing slowed. She slumped against the couch, her legs trembling.

He lay back, eyes to the ceiling, his genitals resting on his thigh, their intimacy glistening over him. She reached for a tissue on the stand behind the couch to clean herself up. He acknowledged to himself, out of her earshot, “Next time, not you.”

Lyrou, having cleaned herself enough for the minute, lay nude-to-nude atop him, “What is not me?”

Garin stroked her hair. “I said next time, not you.”

Lyrou repeated, her mouth against his chest, “Next time, not you. Yes, next time, not you.”

⚜