Chapter 2

As Mom and I finished dinner that evening, she unveiled a box containing two new shower heads. “I’ve been wanting to upgrade our showers for ages, but I have no idea how to install these things. Should I call a plumber or can you handle it?”

I smiled. “It shouldn’t be too difficult. I’m sure I can figure it out.”

An hour later, I emerged from the bathroom, triumphantly holding up the old, outdated shower heads I had just replaced. Mom was waiting for me on the couch, and we both settled in to watch some TV. It felt good to know that I could help her out with something as simple as this, but it elevated my curiosity as to why she needed me to return for such a simple task.

During the show, Heather texted, “Everything okay at home? Is your mother all right?”

“Working on it,” I replied. “It was nothing serious, but my mother is feeling lonely, so I’m going to stay the weekend.”

“Okay, keep in touch and say hi to Beth for me. Hopefully, you’ve explained what happened. I’d hate for her to think badly of me,” Heather wrote.

“Thanks for keeping in touch. She’ll understand because she really likes you, too. She’s the one that talked me into asking you to the prom,” I texted back.

She replied with a string of smiley faces, concluding our conversation.

Mom curiously glanced at me as I finished my conversation with Heather. Explaining to her what had happened that fateful night, her relief was palpable. “I always knew she was a good person. I’m glad that my original assumptions about her were correct. I’m happy that you two are talking again. So, have you thought about asking her out on a date?”

“I haven’t had the chance to connect with her yet,” I replied, feeling a pang of guilt for lying. I knew she would try to pressure me into keeping my previous engagement. I added, “Both of us are swamped with classes, so it might be difficult to arrange a time to meet.”

Normally, we were both in bed by the time Dad came home, but we ran late that night. “Orange,” Mom stated, prompting both of us to head to our rooms.

As I undressed, her use of our secret word bounced around my head until a revelation hit me. Her password wasn’t ‘SecretCode’ — it was ‘Orange’. She didn’t want anyone to discover it, but it was a hint for her to know, in case she forgot. Only she and I would know, so it must have been a way to hide it from Dad.

I stayed up, browsing on my phone, eagerly anticipating the clock to strike one in the morning. Only then did I stealthily make my way into Mom’s office. As soon as I typed in ‘orange’, the main menu popped up and I almost whooped out with glee. Deep down, I knew I was violating her privacy and would have hated for her to do the same to me. The responsible action would be to close the program, but that didn’t happen.

As I scanned the pages of her journal, it became apparent that she was a diligent notetaker. I randomly picked a date from my infancy, and before I knew it, I was fully immersed in her writing. It was captivating to learn about the everyday activities she engaged in and the emotions she felt.

As I skipped ahead a few years, the entries shifted primarily to my mother and me playing games or exploring different attractions. Although I remembered some events vividly, most were a blur. Nonetheless, it was evident that she took exceptional care of me and that we had shared many wonderful moments together.

As I read through the journal, I found myself alternating between fits of laughter and tears. It was a deeply emotional experience, but one that allowed me to appreciate even more the incredible love and devotion my mother had shown me throughout my life.

As it was getting late, I selected a more current date and discovered she had made an entry after her phone call earlier in the day.

“Ryan agreed to come home again tonight. I don’t want to keep pestering him, though. Sooner or later, he’ll realize that I’m making up excuses to lure him home. I love spending time with him, but I don’t want to take over his life. He has a bright future ahead of him, and I can’t hold him back. However, I do feel much more secure when he’s here with me. Lately, Bob has been coming home late and drunk. Without Ryan here, I’m worried that he may fall back into his old ways and take his anger out on me.”

Reading between the lines, I sensed that Mom was struggling with her own needs and desires, versus her sense of duty towards her family. The mention of Dad’s erratic behavior also sent a shiver down my spine, raising questions about their relationship and the nature of their interactions.

Overall, the journal entry left me with a feeling of unease and a sense that there was much more to Mom’s life than I had ever imagined. Without delay, I attempted to delve deeper into her diary, but my efforts were interrupted by the sound of her bedroom door opening, accompanied by the sound of her footsteps approaching the kitchen. I shut down her computer and retreated to my room, promising to dig further into her journal the next evening.

Snuggling with Mom on the couch Saturday night, my mother’s journal entry crossed my mind, which made me anxious about her safety and overall state. I decided that I needed to take action, but I didn’t want to alarm her. So, I turned to her and asked, “My progress at school is going well, and I’m finding it a bit boring to stay on campus over the weekends. Do you think it would be okay if I came home instead? I could even make it back in time for Friday dinner and leave late on Sunday to ensure I’m back for my classes on Monday.”

Her smile widened, before she tightly hugged me. Her hot breath washed against my ear, as she replied, “I’d love for you to come home every weekend. To be truthful, that’s why I gave you that fuel card, hoping you’d spend more time here. I’ll be sure to have one of your favorite meals waiting for you every Friday night.”

For the rest of the evening, she cuddled against me and discussed the things we could do on future weekends.

Once again, I found myself up at one in the morning reading my mother’s journal, searching for any clue as to why her relationship with my father had failed. My suspicions led me to look for the word ‘orange’, and after some searching, I found the first mention of it.

The entry read:

“Last week one night, Bob came home drunk and beat me again, threatening to do the same to Ryan. He said that our son needed to learn some respect. In a panic, I came up with a game the following day that involves using the secret word ‘Orange’. Whenever Ryan hears it, he goes to his room and hides. Signaling Ryan before Bob arrives works well as he hasn’t repeated his threats. I have to remain vigilant and do everything I can to protect Ryan from his father.”

My heart pounded as I came to the painful realization that my dad was subjecting Mom to physical abuse. Frantically scrolling through previous entries, I discovered a distressing truth: this had been occurring regularly for over a year. While I had never felt a strong affection for my father, an overwhelming surge of passionate hatred welled up inside me. I wanted to walk into his office and beat him to a pulp for treating my mother so badly. I thought back to my youth and recalled hearing yelps and groans come from their bedroom, but I didn’t suspect Dad was harming her.

Whatever little time Dad spent at home, it was in his converted office-bedroom, so I searched for that and found one. As I read the entry, it left me shaken.

“I’ve had enough. Last night, he hit me several times again. But this time, he was careful to hit my upper thighs where the bruises wouldn’t show. I finally told him I couldn’t take it anymore and that I was leaving with Ryan. He lost control and slapped me across the face, knocking me onto the bed. He screamed that he would ruin me in court and that I would be left with nothing. He even threatened to take custody of Ryan and turn him into a man. I froze with fear while he ranted and raved. Eventually, he calmed down and said he would move into the office and essentially live separately from us. But when he informed me I’d have to get my sex elsewhere, I couldn’t help but snap back. I told him I wouldn’t miss the thirty-second ordeal. He slapped me again and stormed out of the room.”

Scanning the entries after that episode, it appeared that he stopped hurting her once he relocated to his office. It still pained me that she had sacrificed herself to maintain my safety. She deserved much better and I vowed to do everything possible to help her find a way out of her dilemma.

With my new schedule, I spent all day and evenings studying and advancing through my self-paced courses, so I could finish school earlier. Late Wednesday night, I felt like taking a break and sent a text to Heather, “Hi. Are you awake? Can we talk?”

She called seconds later. “Hi, Ryan. How’d it go with your mother last weekend?”

“Not great, actually,” I replied. I divulged everything I’d learned about my parents’ relationship, without disclosing the source of my information — Mom’s private journal.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed. “That’s terrible. Your poor mother. I heard he was having an affair, but had no idea he was such a monster.”

“Dad’s having an affair?” I asked, taking me by surprise.

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew,” Heather said. “My parents told me that they saw your parents at a nightclub. But when they were close, they noticed that the woman with him wasn’t your mother. They left without saying anything. Mom used that as one of the reasons she didn’t want me to date you, because she didn’t want me to be associated with your father’s infidelity.”

“Really?” I asked, still trying to digest the latest information.

“It’s not your fault, though. Adultery isn’t genetic,” Heather said, trying to lighten the mood.

“I know that,” I said, forcing a chuckle.

“It could be a learned behavior, but it doesn’t seem to apply to you. Either way, I’m sorry you’re going through this. Have you talked to Beth about divorcing your father?”

“Not yet,” I admitted. “I only just found out about all of this.”

“Well, when you do, make sure you support her as much as possible. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for you. We’ll have to postpone our dinner plans for now, though. My academic studies have become more demanding, leaving me with limited free time. However, rest assured, we will certainly arrange something in the future.”

After conversing for a few minutes, we concluded our discussion.

After dinner on Friday evening, Mom and I watched our shows before retiring. Remaining awake, I patiently waited for a few hours prior to investigating Mom’s journal.

Searching for ‘affair,’ I discovered a relevant entry from nearly a year ago. As I read her words, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.

“He doesn’t even try to hide his affairs anymore. When he moved into his office, he told me he’d find sex elsewhere. At the time, I thought he was just bluffing, but now I know the truth. Our marriage was never strong, but I have to come to terms that it’s completely over.”

I paused, my heart aching for her, and then continued to read.

“If I divorce him, he has the resources to crush me. But at least Ryan is old enough to choose who he goes with. Without my husband’s salary, it would be impossible to provide adequately for Ryan. For my son’s sake, I have to maintain the status quo. Once Ryan is self-supportive, I’ll do the inevitable and try to take back what’s left of my life.”

I couldn’t imagine the pain and uncertainty she must be feeling. After reading several more similar entries, a plan of action formed in my mind.

The next day, Mom and I went to the mall. She shopped for clothes, and during that time, I went to the electronics store to buy a GPS tracker. At lunch, I couldn’t help but stare at my mother’s gorgeous face. Her cheerful appearance was full of vitality, but I knew she was concealing a great deal of pain. “Tonight would be the start of her healing process,” I promised myself.

As we settled on the couch that night, I wrapped my arm around my mother and pulled her close. With a gentle voice, I spoke, “Mom, I’ve been hearing rumors, and I suspect that you may know about Dad’s affair.”

Feeling her body tense, I stroked her arm, trying to offer some comfort. “I’m sorry you had to find out from someone else,” she sighed. “It’s hard for me to admit that our marriage is over.”

“There’s no reason for you to remain with him if you’re not happy,” I said firmly. “Why don’t you divorce him?”

“Unfortunately, there are certain circumstances that have prevented it,” she replied, her voice heavy with sadness. “But it will happen in due time.”

“I want to help you,” I said, determined to do what I could to ease her burden. “Once I’m employed, I can support us both. We’ll have enough money without him.”

She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I hate to burden you with my problems,” she said. “It’s a tough situation, but I have to work through it.”

Feeling I had pushed her enough, I changed topics for the rest of the evening.

Instead of sneaking into Mom’s office that night, I configured and tested the GPS device. Waiting for Dad to arrive, I surfed for the best location to hide it. Scrolling past all the warnings about the illegality of using one, I found the information I needed. An hour after he parked, I snuck into the garage and hid the tracking device behind the glove box.

Each weekend, I recharged the tracker to ensure it would maintain functionality. Either remorse or guilt prevented me from reading Mom’s journal. I did everything I could to ensure she was happy when I was home. Her attitude had steadily improved, hugging and flirting with me more each weekend.

After collecting data for several weeks, I analyzed the tracking results and identified a pattern in Dad’s activity. I eliminated all the trips to clubs and golf courses, but one repeating trip caught my attention. On Thursdays after work, he would make a brief stop at the same bar each week before heading to a residence in the suburbs. Around midnight he’d return home. When he left in the morning, he’d drive to the same residence, stop for a minute, and then proceed to work.

I concluded that he took a co-worker to her house, stopping for a drink first. After an evening of sex, he’d come home, then drive to her house to pick her up to take her to work. She must leave her car at work for some reason, maybe she only had one parking spot at her house.

The next weekend, I removed the tracker and stored it in my room, being of no further use. On Sunday night, while we were sitting on the couch, I held Mom close and revealed, “I believe Dad meets with the other woman on Thursday nights.”

“How do you know that?” she asked. “Not that you’re wrong. When I launder his soiled garments each Friday, the telltale signs of his unfaithfulness become apparent. Do you know who she is?”

“I found out from some of my friends,” I lied, not wanting her to be a participant in a crime. “I don’t know her identity, but have heard he takes her to the same bar every week before leaving for her place.”

Mom hesitated, turned to me, and gripped my hands. “I want to see her,” she stated sternly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It would be difficult to do without him recognizing us,” I replied.

Her hands squeezed mine tighter while insisting, “Help me, then. I want to see them with my own eyes to confirm it’s over.”

Swiftly formulating a plan, I cast a glance at Mom’s apprehensive expression and assented, “All right. I’ll make it a point to return home early on Thursday and accompany you to the bar. We’ll have to wear clothes that will conceal our faces.”

“Fine,” Mom replied. “That’s a day I work remotely, so I’ll be here and ready.”

Without another word, she hugged me tightly, lightly kissed me on the lips, and said, “Have a safe trip back to school. See you on Thursday.”

Her sexy smirk after her tender and delicious kiss was enough to fire off my endorphins, sending waves of pleasure through my body. During the drive back to school, my mind raced with the time I spent with Mom. Needless to say, I pumped out a large load of cum that night, envisioning my mother and me together.

Before leaving school on Thursday, I stopped at the campus store and bought a hoodie.

Mom was already cloaked in a full-length raincoat with an attached hood. “Is that new?” I asked. “I’ve never seen you wear it.”

“I bought it, especially for our spy mission,” she replied, chuckling.

“Okay, Agent 99. It’s time to roll,” I said, knowing she’d get the joke as we had watched one of the movies and the entire series in the past.

She laughed. “From what I can remember, she was quite the looker, so thanks.”

I wondered which actress she referred to, although her looks matched Anne Hathaway.

Relief swept through me when we pulled up to the nightclub. It was large and would be easy to find a clandestine location. We found a table in the back and ordered drinks. The place was filled with businessmen, drinking, and flirting with young women. In a short period, one of them stumbled over to our table and slurred, “Can I buy you a drink, Missy?”

“Beth is my date,” I sternly replied, glaring at him. He shrugged his shoulders and left for another table. It wasn’t long before it happened again. It became obvious that it was more than a business networking club, it was a place to connect with hookers.

I shifted my chair closer to Mom and said, “We need to stop them from coming over here or it’ll catch Dad’s attention when he arrives. Trust me and don’t act alarmed.”

Holding her hand, I leaned in and kissed her. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t retreat. Several seconds later, I withdrew an inch and whispered, “They probably thought that I was pimping you. I’ll call you Beth to disguise our relationship. Pretend to talk to me as my partner and they’ll give up.”

“Okay, Ryan,” she replied, leaning in and kissing me gently. “If that’s what it takes. I’d hate to blow our first spy mission.” We engaged in small talk for a few minutes and when I noticed the men at the bar turn their heads, I kissed Mom once more, before regrettably releasing her.

Her love-filled eyes didn’t convey the repulsiveness I feared from inappropriately kissing her. Minutes later, Dad entered, followed by a woman that eerily resembled Mom. Flipping up my hood, I reached over and covered Mom’s head with her raincoat. She turned to me, her expression displaying her astonishment that Dad was having an affair with her doppelganger.

Although the woman looked like Mom, her attire was entirely different. Her short skirt showed off her long, shapely legs. The widely gapped blouse displayed an ample amount of cleavage, much like Mom’s prom dress had. Her hair was styled differently — the same color, but styled in a bob cut, with the ends curved forward. It accented her cute face perfectly. Her full lips were tightly sealed, hiding her teeth, but inviting nonetheless. Her brown eyes reminded me of Mom’s, as well as her graceful nose and chin.

The other men took notice of the sexy woman, eyeing her up and down, inspecting her like a piece of meat. I felt relief that Mom had decided to wear a long raincoat so she hadn’t been subjected to the lustful leering of the horny businessmen.

Dad didn’t seem to mind the attention his date was receiving, as he milled around, chatting with his buddies. The woman looked more concerned with downing her drinks, rather than paying any attention to my adulterous father.

I wondered how he could mistreat Mom so horribly, and yet, go out with someone so similar, acknowledging that, at least, he had great taste in women.

Ten minutes later, Mom stood and grasped my hand, pulling me toward the entrance. The antechamber was large, filled with chairs and benches that were no longer needed. The club might have been popular in the past, but it had not aged well. Just as I reached for the outer door handle, she gripped my sleeve and whispered, “They’re coming.”