Chapter 5

Tuesday morning found Deniece again fixing breakfast, this time scrambled eggs and bacon sizzling in parallel pans on the stove. The kitchen filled with the comforting aroma of morning cooking—coffee brewing in the pot, toast popping up golden brown from the toaster, and the unmistakable savory scent of bacon crisping to perfection.

David and Wendy sat at the table in their school clothes, still slightly sleepy-eyed as they sipped their orange juice. David was carefully arranging his dinosaur figurines along the edge of his placemat while Wendy colored enthusiastically in her princess coloring book, occasionally asking her mother to look at her latest masterpiece.

“Mom, can I have extra bacon today? I have gym class,” David called out, his strategic request making Deniece smile as she flipped the strips.

“One extra piece,” she replied, stirring the fluffy yellow eggs. “Not the entire pan.”

The sound of footsteps on the stairs announced the arrival of her tenants. Paul and Pam descended together, already dressed for their day of classes, engaged in animated conversation about some campus event.

“Morning, Wilson family,” Paul greeted them cheerfully, making a beeline for the coffee pot.

Pam followed, clutching a neatly folded bundle of fabric. “Good morning! Mrs. D, I found that workout outfit I was telling you about.” She placed the bundle on the counter away from the cooking area. “It’s a prototype from my functional athleisure collection—much more breathable than those sweats but still perfectly modest. I think it’ll fit you perfectly.”

“Thank you, Pam,” Deniece said, genuinely touched by the thoughtfulness. “I’ll try it on later.”

“Can I have clothes too?” Wendy asked, looking up from her coloring with sudden interest.

“As a matter of fact,” Pam replied with a conspiratorial smile, “I started sketching your twirly dress last night. Want to see the ideas after breakfast?”

As Deniece began plating the food—eggs precisely scrambled to that perfect balance between dry and runny that somehow satisfied everyone’s preferences, bacon arranged in careful portions with extra for David—she took in the scene around her. The kitchen table that had felt too large after Michael died now seemed just right with these additional presences filling the empty chairs.

“We have chess club this afternoon,” Paul told David as he accepted his plate with thanks. “If your mom says it’s okay, you could come watch sometime. We have a junior division starting next month.”

The conversation flowed easily around the table—Pam describing her design project deadlines, Paul explaining a mathematical concept he was teaching that day, the children interjecting with their own school stories and questions. Deniece found herself speaking less and listening more, watching with quiet amazement as her home transformed from a place defined by absence to one characterized by these new, unexpected connections.

Deniece sat at the kitchen table, cradling her second cup of coffee between her palms, savoring the quiet that had settled over the house after the morning rush. Everyone had departed—children to school, tenants to university—leaving her alone with her thoughts and the subtle evidence of their shared lives: Paul’s chess magazine on the counter, Pam’s sketch of Wendy’s dress pinned to the refrigerator, a forgotten dinosaur figurine next to the napkin holder.

Her eyes drifted to the neatly folded bundle of athletic wear that Pam had placed on the side table by the entry to the kitchen. The fabric looked sleek and professional, not like the bargain-bin sweats she’d been wearing for years. Curious, she reached for it, running her fingers over the material—surprisingly soft yet substantial.

After finishing her coffee, Deniece took the outfit upstairs to try on. In her bedroom, she unfolded the garment—a one-piece exercise bodysuit in a deep navy blue with strategic mesh panels for ventilation. It was thoughtfully designed and clearly well-made, but as she held it up against herself in the mirror, she hesitated. It seemed more fitted than anything she’d worn in years.

“Well, no one’s here to see me anyway,” she murmured to herself, and changed into the outfit.

The bodysuit fit surprisingly well, hugging her figure in a way that was supportive rather than restrictive. Looking in the mirror, Deniece hardly recognized herself. She had been concealing her curves behind loose clothes, but the design and color brought them out. The neckline pressed her breasts together, exposing her upper half; yet, she wasn’t used to wearing a garment that exposed her back. She glanced back at her rear end and saw that the fabric had accentuated her ass cheeks and deepened the crack.

Feeling slightly self-conscious even in the empty house, she grabbed a lightweight zip-up hoodie to wear over the top before heading down to the basement gym.

On the treadmill, she gradually found herself forgetting about her apprehensions as the technical benefits of the fabric became apparent. Unlike her cotton sweats that grew heavy and uncomfortable when damp, this material wicked moisture away effectively. The strategic ventilation panels actually did make a difference in keeping her cool, and the built-in support eliminated the need for adjustments mid-workout.

As she increased the speed, testing the garment through a more intensive phase of her routine, Deniece realized she was pushing herself harder than usual. Something about wearing proper athletic wear made her feel more committed to the workout itself—as if the outfit demanded a performance worthy of its design.

By the time she finished her twenty-five minutes, Deniece had settled into a new appreciation for the garment, despite her initial reservations. It was certainly more revealing than what she was accustomed to, but perhaps that wasn’t entirely negative. After all, no one else would see her in the basement gym.

As she cooled down, she made a mental note to thank Pam for the thoughtful gift—and to perhaps ask if she had any other designs that struck that delicate balance between functional and comfortable while still allowing her to feel appropriately covered.

Deniece finished her workout and headed upstairs for her customary bubble bath, her body humming with the pleasant fatigue of exertion. As she climbed the stairs, she became aware of a subtle difference in how she carried herself—shoulders back, posture more aligned. The workout suit had supported her body in ways her old sweats never had, providing gentle compression that made her movements feel more controlled and deliberate.

In the bathroom, as she waited for the tub to fill, she caught her reflection in the mirror and paused. The navy fabric contrasted with her skin tone, highlighting rather than hiding the contours of her body. For the first time in years, she didn’t immediately look away from her reflection but instead studied it with newfound curiosity.

The suit revealed a woman she barely recognized—not the frumpy, tired mom who hid in baggy clothes, but someone with strength in her shoulders, definition in her arms from months of consistent exercise, and curves that the well-designed garment actually flattered rather than concealed.

She turned sideways, noticing how the suit’s tailored cut accentuated her waistline. There was something empowering about seeing herself this way, about acknowledging the body that had carried and birthed two children, that had continued to function and grow stronger even as her heart had struggled to heal after losing Michael.

As she lowered the shoulder straps of the suit to prepare for her bath, Deniece realized that what she was feeling wasn’t just physical comfort—it was a rekindling of something she had nearly forgotten: the simple pleasure of feeling good in her own skin. Not necessarily sexy in a way that demanded another’s gaze, but confident in a way that was entirely for herself—a quiet recognition of her own vitality that had been buried beneath grief and practicality for too long.

The warm water welcomed her as she sank into the bubble bath, muscles relaxing in the heat. She made a mental note to thank Pam properly for the gift that had unexpectedly offered more than just improved athletic performance—it had given her a glimpse of herself beyond the roles of widow and mother, a reminder that she was still very much alive in all the ways that mattered.

She sat there in the warm, fragrant water, absently swirling the bubbles as her mind wandered. Perhaps it was time to change some things in her life. The workout suit had awakened something dormant—a desire to rediscover herself beyond the practical uniforms of motherhood and widowhood she’d adopted.

She’d start with the way she dressed around the house. Not dramatically—she wasn’t about to trade her comfortable clothes for cocktail dresses to make breakfast—but small, deliberate changes. Instead of the faded, shapeless sweatpants that had become her daily uniform, she could wear the nicer jeans that fit like the workout suit had.

Her wardrobe still contained blouses and sweaters she’d once enjoyed wearing—simple, attractive pieces that had been neglected in favor of Michael’s old t-shirts and stretched-out cardigans. She could incorporate those again, pieces that made her feel put-together without sacrificing comfort.

Even her sleepwear could use an update. The flannel pajamas with the worn elastic and frayed hems had served their purpose during the hardest days of grief when comfort was all that mattered. But there were still those soft cotton pajama sets her mother had given her last Christmas, tags still attached, in a pretty sage green that complemented her eyes.

Nothing revealing or impractical—she was still a mother with young children and now tenants in the house—but clothes that acknowledged she was a woman with an identity beyond her responsibilities. Garments that fit her current body, not the one she’d had before children or the one she’d hidden away after Michael’s death.

As the bathwater began to cool, Deniece made a simple promise to herself. This afternoon, she would sort through her closet, rediscover what she already owned but had forgotten, and perhaps make a list of a few new basics to refresh her wardrobe. Small steps toward reclaiming parts of herself that had been set aside during years focused solely on survival.

Getting out of the tub and drying off, Deniece walked toward the closet, but stopped again in front of the mirror, her eyes fixed on her own naked body. She gazed at her reflection, taking in the curves of her breasts, the slope of her shoulders, and the rounded shape of her hips. She thought about how she had been feeling.

As she stood there, Deniece’s hands began to move, tracing the curves of her own skin, feeling the softness of her breasts, and the sensitivity of her nipples. She touched herself, feeling the gentle slope of her belly, and the softness of her pubic hair. She slipped her fingers between her legs, feeling the warmth and wetness of her own pussy, and she began to rub herself, feeling the pleasure and arousal build inside her.

She stopped, was it just the workout outfit that had triggered this shift? Or was it something deeper—perhaps the change in the household dynamics, the presence of new people in their lives bringing a different energy into spaces that had grown too quiet, too static?

Maybe it was simply time. Nearly four years had passed since Michael’s accident. The raw wound had gradually formed a scar—still visible, still part of her, but no longer bleeding at the slightest touch. Perhaps these stirrings were just another phase of healing, her spirit finally ready to reconnect with aspects of herself that grief had temporarily buried.

As she dried herself and wrapped her hair in a towel, Deniece realized that whatever the source, these feelings weren’t unwelcome. They were like discovering an old friend waiting patiently for her return—the woman who once took pleasure in small acts of self-care, who enjoyed feeling confident in her appearance not for others’ approval but for her own satisfaction.

She opened her closet and surveyed its contents with new eyes. It wasn’t about transformation or reinvention—just reconnection with parts of herself that had been waiting in the shadows, ready when she was.