I wasn’t supposed to be home.
Dad thought I’d stay the whole summer at my friend’s beach place. But after a fight and a few too many drinks, I packed my bag and came back without warning.
The house was dark when I arrived — except for a soft, amber glow spilling from the living room. Music drifted through the air. A slow, seductive beat. Something old-school. Vinyl, maybe.
I walked in, quietly dropping my bag by the stairs.
That’s when I saw her.
Vanessa.
My stepmom.
She was barefoot, wearing a silky, thin-strapped sundress that clung to her curves like it had been painted on. The hem danced around her thighs as she swayed to the music, eyes closed, hips moving like she’d forgotten the world.
There was a half-empty wine glass on the coffee table.
She didn’t notice me at first.
An
