Chapter 1: Broken
Olivia’s point of view:
“Come on!” I shout at the kids. “We’re gonna be late.” Korbin is staring down at his phone, texting. “A little help would be nice,” I say, not even trying to hide the disdain in my voice. I’ve asked for more help in the mornings countless times, but he’s just never attune to what’s happening with the four children he helped bring into the world.
“Kids!” he shouts. His booming voice is the one that gets the feet upstairs moving and I want to scream, just put my hands in my hair, tug and scream bloody murder to the ceiling.
I’m at the point of an all out breakdown–mentally and emotionally.
“Thanks,” I say, but I don’t mean the words and I can tell he knows.
“We’ve got that thing tonight,” he replies. When I look up at him, he’s still not looking at me, scrolling through his phone as if he has no cares.
He doesn’t.
Not me. Maybe the kids, but certainly not his wife of fifteen years. I can hear my mother’s voice snarking in the back of my mind, What did you expect when you got married at eighteen?
“What thing?” I ask, shoving lunches into packs, and making sure everyone has everything they need for school and daycare.
“My work party.”
“Shit,” I murmur.
“Starts at seven. Florence will be here at six thirty.”
Florence is our babysitter, and my boss’s daughter. She’s nineteen and taking a year off before going to college. She’s been watching the kids for us since she was fifteen. Josiah, our oldest is twelve, and he could probably be fine without a babysitter, but I don’t think it’s fair to leave him responsible for his younger siblings, especially when Davis, our youngest is only five.
“Okay, I’ll be ready.” What I want to say is go by himself. It’s not like he’ll pay any attention to me when we’re there. He’ll network, shake hands, introduce me when necessary, and I’ll be a pretty ornament on his arm, as if I’m not a highly educated Nurse Practitioner. I’m not supposed to have a brain or an opinion at these things, just a pretty smile and a decent rack I can display for the older men in the company to look at.
Davis is the first in the kitchen. He’s at the stage where he wants to do everything himself, and it saves me time and energy to let him do it unsupervised. So far, the system is working since he’s the first one ready. Josiah makes an appearance right after him, looking every bit the sullen teenager he is. Anne and Emily come in right after them, our middle children who are ten and seven.
They each take their spot at the table and start on breakfast. Thankfully they eat without me having to tell them.
“I gotta go,” Korbin announces. He kisses each of the kids, barely looks at me and then he’s out the door without a backward glance, as if leaving his wife isn’t even worth kissing.
Fuck. Marriage is so hard. I’m so tired.
My phone beeps, and I glance down at the message.
Lyle: Wear those panties I like, baby.
My heart races in my chest. My friends haven’t asked, but I know they know I’m having an affair. Things are finally settled with Robin’s drama, and Bri is blissfully happy, maybe it’s time I finally confess to them.
Neither of them can judge me for it. Bri cheated on her husband with his best friend. Sure, it worked out and the three of them are now a triad with enough love between them to make you choke on it. And Robin fell for a married man. He left his wife for her. They have no room to judge whatsoever.
I’m judging myself though. I love Korbin. I do, but marriage is hard, and it feels so damn good to have someone pay attention to me, to treat me as a woman instead of just mom, chauffeur, cook, maid. Any of the million roles I play every day for my family.
To make things more complicated, Lyle is technically my boss. It’s his practice that I work at as nurse practitioner. Yeah, don’t shit where you eat. It’s good advice until the first time your boss slides his hand up your skirt after weeks of tension and flirting. The affair has been going on for close to a year. He says once his oldest graduates high school in two years, he’ll leave his wife for me if that’s what I want.
It’s not.
I don’t know exactly what it is that I want, but I know it’s not that. It’s not even this. I feel guilty every time we have sex, but it’s not like I’m having sex with my husband either. I know he’s having an affair too, I just don’t have the proof.
Do I even care?
Yes, of course I do.
I don’t know how to get us back to who we were before everything got so hard. We’ve grown apart, and no matter how much I try, I can’t seem to bring us back together.
Lyle isn’t the cause of my marital problems. He’s a symptom, a distraction. I don’t love him. But it feels so damn good to be wanted like that. I can’t even remember the last time Korbin and I had sex–more proof he’s getting some on the side too.
If we don’t fix things soon though, it’s going to spiral and we’ll never be able to work it out. I don’t want that for my kids: step parents, step siblings, having to own two of everything and go back and forth between houses. I know staying together for kids is never the right choice, but fixing it for them might be.
But how?
That’s what I can’t figure out.
Finally breaking down, I text Bri and Olivia.
Me: Can we have a girls night this week? I need to talk
Bri: I’m free whenever
Robin: I can do Thursday or Saturday
The benefit to Bri having four kids, but two husbands is that there’s always someone to be their caregiver when she wants to go out.
Me: Saturday, seven, DeMarco’s
I get thumbs up replies and then I’m locking my phone. “All right kids, breakfast dishes in the sink. We’ve got to go.” They’re not going to be late to school yet, but we’re definitely going to cut it close, which means I’ll be late-ish for work.
It takes longer to get through the drop off circle than it does to get to school. It’s halfway through the year and some kids and parents still don’t have it figured out. I hate it. Drop off and pick up are hands down the worst part about being a parent. That’s probably an exaggeration, but because it happens twice a day for forever, it seems like it.
I pull into the office parking lot three minutes late, but after racing inside, I find everyone waiting for the morning meeting to start. Lyle welcomes me with a smile and a knowing look. I did not listen to him and wear the panties he likes. I’m so behind on laundry that the only option was granny panties, bikini bottoms or commando.
Maybe I should have gone commando. It would definitely make office sex easier.
When I end the affair–which I will do…eventually–I’m going to have to find a new job. That’s not the worst thing in the world. I’m bored here, not challenged, but it allows me the flexibility to be with my kids outside of school hours, unlike if I worked at a hospital. But in a year or two, they’ll be older and I’ll have more flexibility. They’ll have after school activities, sports, chorus, or band.
I love my kids, but I envy Bri most of the time. Even before Cole entered their relationship, she stayed home while Noah worked. I love my job and my degree, but being a working mom is hard. The guilt is real, and there’s never enough time for anything.
“Any questions?” Lyle asks. It’s not until I hear the question that I realize I zoned out for the entire meeting. No one says anything. “All right, let’s get to work. Olivia, my office please.”
“One second,” I say, holding my finger up.
He nods and then walks into his office. “That’s what you get for being late again,” my annoying coworker Ruth says. I offer her a tight smile and put my purse away in my desk before walking into Lyle’s office, closing the door behind me.
“Did you wear my favorite panties?”
“No,” I tell him, shaking my head.
He tuts, and motions for me to come forward. He pulls me into his lap, kissing me sweetly. There’s no pretense anymore. In the beginning he would try to start a conversation about work and let it take a natural transition. Now he just calls me in, pulls me into his lap to kiss me and eventually bends me over his desk, fucking me roughly from behind while I keep my cries soft so no one else in the office finds out.
It’s wrong.
And I hate myself for it.
But fuck, do I need the orgasm he’s about to give me.
~~~~~
Korbin’s point of view:
I’m laughing. It’s fake, overdramatic, and the laugh I only use when I’m at one of these stupid work functions. Olivia is next to me, laughing too, but hers is more subdued. To everyone around us we look like the picture perfect couple we’ve always been. Since high school. I’m thirty-four years old and I’ve been with her since I was fifteen. Up until a few months ago, she was the only woman I’d ever slept with.
That changed when I started banging our nineteen year old babysitter.
Things have been bad, and fucking her isn’t going to make anything better, but fuck does it make me feel good. She looks at me without expectations. There’s no list of things I have to do for her, fix this, repair that, no kids running between us whenever we have a moment. And Olivia and I do not have moments a lot. They’re fewer and farther between, and it doesn’t seem like she cares.
I love my wife. I do. So much, but we’re barely surviving, and that’s overstating things.
“That’s good,” I say to Mr. Someone whose name I should know, but can’t remember because I really just don’t want to. I wrap my arm around Olivia’s waist, and pull her to me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna drag my wife away before she starts to realize I’m not the funniest man in the room.”
More laughter. I can tell Olivia’s is fake, but I’m sure I’m the only one who can tell. It’s the one she gives me all the time now too.
I’m not sure where it all went wrong. I wish I could pinpoint the exact moment, go back and change it because when things were good, it was magical, but fuck if we haven’t lost it. I don’t know if it’s the four kids, the mortgage, the constant changing of goals, and lives, but we’re drowning.
“God I hate these things,” she whispers. I turn to look at her, but there’s still a smile on her face. Wide. Fake. It’s the only one I get from her recently too.
I look down at her in her dress, and even if things are rough, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s in a tight black dress, hugging her curves. Her chest nearly spills out the low cut of the top. The hem is modest, falling to almost her knees, but I know what her legs look like, and even now, I’m thinking about what she’s hiding from me under there. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her naked.
I don’t know when she stopped letting me see her, but it’s where we are.
She’s still putting on a good show, her hand running down my chest. It amazes me how good we are at faking it. If I didn’t know any better, I might actually think she liked touching me like this.
Her hand runs across my barrel chest, down my stomach. I’ve always been a big guy, played lineman on the high school football team. Olivia was the most gorgeous girl in school and I couldn’t believe my luck she actually wanted me over the quarterback, or the star of the basketball team, or one of the swimmers who was long and lean. She wanted me, with the stomach and the big muscles that were and still aren’t defined. But she loves it–loved. I’m not sure if I still get to use how she feels about me in the present tense because it feels like the past tense, even with her wrapped in my arms.
“How much longer do we have to stay?” she asks.
“Thirty minutes or so,” I tell her.
“Okay, I’m just going to powder my nose.” She kisses my cheek and smiles at me, and I hate that I know it’s fake. Shit, maybe it’s not. Couples are supposed to grow closer, get to know each other better as time goes on, but all we’re doing is drifting further apart.
With the few moments alone I have, I pull my phone out of the pocket of my tux.
Florence: kids are asleep
Underneath the message there’s a picture of her laying on the couch in my house, tits pushed up, pout on her face, smirking at the camera with big brown eyes.
Guilt swirls inside me. I’ve been honest and upfront with her. Even if my marriage ends in disaster, there’s no future for us.
Me: We’re gonna leave in about thirty
Florence: See you soon
There’s a winking emoji at the end. It took me longer than I care to admit to realize she was flirting with me. I know it doesn’t make it better, but she chased me. She seduced me. Sure, I gave in when I shouldn’t have because I’m a married father, but in a moment of weakness I did. And now it’s been six months and I’ve been banging my babysitter like some goddamn cliche from a porno.
I need to stop. I keep trying. But the sex is good, and I can’t remember the last time I had sex with Olivia, the last time she even accepted my advances, the last time she even tried to start anything with me.
Part of me wonder if she’s having an affair too. Would I even be hurt by it if she was? We’re so lost I’m not even sure I would be.
I think we both know if it weren’t for the kids we wouldn’t still be together.
Maybe we should try counseling?
When Olivia comes back, she’s got fresh lipstick on. I’m still stunned every time I look at her, auburn hair curled softly, lips dark red. She’s changed so much in the eighteen years we’ve been together. And not just her body. Sure, four pregnancies has changed it, age has changed it, but it’s her attitude that’s changed too. She’s so damn smart, always has been. She got so much more confidence than high school Olivia, and I love it.
I wish she would let me love her like she used to.
Can we ever get that back?
The last thirty minutes we stay fly by until we’re in the car driving home.
“Thanks for coming with me,” I tell her. I want to reach over to her, touch her, but it feels so strained and awkward.
“No problem,” she replies. She’s looking out the window though, ignoring me.
The rest of the drive passes in silence until we pull up to the house. “Just wait here,” she says. “I’ll pay Florence and send her out so you can take her home.”
“Sure,” I say. She’ll be in bed by the time I’m back, no chance of anything happening between us.
She closes the car door and I lean my head against the headrest, eyes closed trying to figure out how I got here. How can I get out of this? How can we fix this?
The first step would be to stop banging our babysitter, but as Florence opens the car door and slips into the seat my wife just vacated, I know there’s no chance of that happening. Not tonight anyway.
“Hey, handsome,” she says, grinning at me. She won’t cross any lines, not while we’re still sitting in my driveway, but as I expect, as soon as we’re driving, she reaches across and trails her hand up my thigh, until she gets to my cock. “You’re so needy,” she murmurs. “It’s been ten days since I’ve gotten to touch you. Your hand isn’t enough to keep you satisfied.”
“Fuck, it’s not,” I whisper, lifting my hips to get her to take more of me.
She teases me until I’m pulling into an abandoned parking lot, and then she’s leaning across the seat, welcoming me into the warmth of her mouth while I sit back and enjoy it until she climbs across me, facing me while she rides my dick until I’m coming inside her, moaning her name but still somehow wishing she was Olivia.
