Emma
Emma leaned back against the kitchen counter, her glass of wine cradled in her hand, as she
and Rachel lingered over the last remnants of dinner. The kids were finally in bed, their
laughter and questions fading into quiet, and now it was just the two of them, the familiar
comfort of Rachel’s company a welcome relief.
Rachel took a sip from her own glass, eyeing Emma thoughtfully. “So,” she began, her voice
gentle but probing, “how are you really doing? I mean... with everything.”
Emma hesitated, swirling her wine, watching the de ep red liquid catch the light. She knew
Rachel wasn’t asking out of idle curiosity; they’d been friends long enough for her to see right
through the smiles and small talk. She felt the loneliness tighten in her chest, but this time, she
let the words come.
“It’s strange,” Emma admitted, her voice soft. “I’ve been with Mark for so long—ten years,
Rach. I haven’t... I haven’t even thought about anyone else, let alone touched anyone else.”
She paused, the ache of that realization sinking in. “And now, it’s been months since I’ve
even... you know.”
Rachel nodded, her expression understanding, a knowing look in her eyes. “Since you’ve been
intimate at all?”
Emma let out a breath, a small, bitter laugh es caping her. “Yeah. And the crazy part is... there
are nights when I just... I miss it. That
closeness, that connection. It’s like my body still craves it, even though my heart can’t stand
the thought of him touching me.”
Rachel’s face softened, and she placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “That makes sense, Em.
You can still miss that part of him, even if... even if the rest feels broken. It’s human. You’re
human.”
Emma swallowed, blinking away the prickle of tears. “I just don’t know how to s eparate it all.
There are these moments when I think maybe I could let go, that I could just... have him here,
feel close to him again. But then I remember... I remember what I saw, the way he was with
her, like none of it mattered. Like we didn’t matter.” Her voice cracked, and she shook her
head, frustration mingling with sadness.
Rachel’s grip on her shoulder tightened, a steady, comforting presence. “He hurt you, Em, and
that pain doesn’t just vanish. It takes time, and maybe... maybe right now, it’s okay if you
don’t know how to feel.”
Emma nodded, feeling the weight of her own confusion settle over her. “I don’t know if I’ll
ever trust him enough to let him that close again,” she whispered. “But sometimes, I still want
it, like I’m torn between two people—the part of me that needs him and the part that knows I
can’t.”
Rachel took a long sip of her wine, studying Emma with a glint of mischief in her eyes. She set
her glass down and leaned in, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Emma, you know what I
think?” she said, her tone light but sincere. “I think you need to go out and have some casual
sex.”
Emma blinked, startled, a laugh es caping before she could stop herself. “Rachel! I can’t just... I
mean... can I?”
Rachel shrugged, her smile widening. “Why not? Look, you’re allowed to feel whatever you’re
feeling—anger, sadness, all of it. But that doesn’t mean you have to stay stuck, you know?
You’re allowed to do things for yourself, things that remind you you’re still... you. That you’re
still wanted.”
Emma felt her cheeks flush, half with embarrassment, half with intrigue. The idea was wild,
unexpected, and yet... it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. It had been so long since she’d even
considered anyone else, so long since she’d felt truly desired, without the weight of everything
with Mark hanging over her.
“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Emma said, half-laughing. “I mean, it’s been... a
decade. I feel like I wouldn’t even remember how.”
Rachel waved a dismissive hand. “Please. You’re gorgeous, you’re fun, and you have way
more confidence than you give yourself credit for. And it doesn’t have to be a big deal—it can
be a simple reminder that you’re still you, that you’re not just Mark’s wife or the kids’ mom.
You deserve to feel wanted. And if Mark can’t give you that right now, maybe someone else
can.”
Emma looked down at her glass, biting her lip as she considered the possibility. It felt risky, a
little reckless—but also freeing, like maybe it could give her back a piece of herself she’d lost
somewhere along the way.
“I don’t know...” she said slowly, still uncertain, but the idea hung in the air, lingering with a
spark of possibility.
Once Rachel left, Emma poured herself another small glass of wine,
staring at the dark liquid, her mind whirling with Rachel’s suggestion. Could she really just...
s eparate things, ke ep it simple and meaningless, just for the sake of filling the void she felt?
The idea felt as foreign as it was tempting, but a small, defiant part of her wondered if it was
even possible. Mark had done it, hadn’t he? He’d gone out and found comfort—no, relief—in
someone else’s arms. He’d done it without guilt, without second thoughts. He’d s eparated sex
from love, from intimacy, and turned it into something she’d never thought possible.
Her cheeks warmed as the thought lingered, mingling with an anger she couldn’t quite shake.
She felt it—a twisted, confusing pull between longing and rage. Part of her craved that
closeness, the feeling of someone
beside her, touching her, reminding her that she was still wanted, still desirable. And yet,
another part, de eper and sharper, was furious. Furious that Mark had made something so
sacred into something... disposable. Meaningless.
She wondered if she could do the same, if she could turn that connection into something she
used instead of something she shared. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe she could give
herself permission to want, to take, without opening her heart, without letting herself feel.
Maybe she could even use Mark for it, take him up on those endless, empty offers he’d been
making lately: Call me if you need anything, Emma. I’m here for you.
Well, maybe there was something she needed. A quick, thoughtless fuck, something that
would let her feel again, even if it was hollow. It would be justice, wouldn’t it? To use him the
way he’d used her trust?
She held her phone for a moment, the idea flaring inside her, then shook her head. She
couldn’t bring herself to actually call him. Not for this. It was too complicated, too messy.
Besides, she wasn’t sure if she wanted that from him—or if she wanted it at all. The thought of
sharing her bed with him now felt both tempting and de eply painful, a reminder of
everything they’d lost.
Emma took a final sip of wine, feeling the warmth settle in her chest, but the ache remained,
tangled and raw. With a sigh, she left her phone on the counter, dimmed the lights, and
headed upstairs, slipping into bed alone. The sheets were cold, the room quiet, and as she lay
there, staring up into the darkness, she wondered if there was any way she could untangle her
own desires from the hurt that lingered. The longing, the anger —they blended into something
so sharp it left her breathless.
She turned over, pulling the blankets around her, willing herself to sle ep.