The Recluse
Copyright© 2025 by Tedbiker
Epilogue
Romantic Story: Epilogue - Robert is a shy nerd, living alone in the house where he grew up after both parents died in the Pandemic. Not especially religious, he went to the Midnight service one Christmas, did something quite out of character, and met Callie McPherson. I am intending to post a chapter a week, but may run out of material!
Caution: This Romantic Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Slow
Robert:
I looked round my little office in ‘Second Chance House’. It’d been quite a ride over the last year or so getting planning permission, carrying out conversions to two buildings. My mind turned as usual to my young wife, Callie. She’d been the first crack in the wall forming my social protection, though to be fair I’ve come to the conclusion that she’d been the tool in the hands of God. Coming to a realisation of the reality behind religion forced me out of my comfortable cocoon into society; a portion of society which I would have avoided had I had any choice in the matter. The first homeless provision had been a city-centre night shelter which could accommodate thirty men and twenty women on a first-come, first served basis. ‘Second Chance House’, though, was a different matter. Places for up to twelve men or women for stays up to a year. Callie and I were resident as ‘house parents’, with support from a local General Practitioner, a couple of nurses, a dietitian, a psychologist and an occupational therapist who called in at varying intervals. In fact, one of the nurses was our group therapy specialist, with a background in therapeutic community work, and possessor of an impressive resume in counselling. I’d come a long way, personally, from the Christmas encounter with a pretty young homeless girl. Thinking about it, I could hardly recognise the person I’d become.
My introspection was broken by the door opening and the entry of one very special woman. Callie looked at me and laughed. “Brooding again, Robert?”
I couldn’t squash my own return smile. “Hardly, Sweetheart. I was reflecting on the changes in my life since we met.”
“Regrets?”
“Oh, no, not at all. But considering it’s been only ... well, less than ... three years since we met, the changes are pretty profound, don’t you think?”
“You could say that. From my point of view, though, there’s not a thing I’d want changed. Anyway, the reason I’m here, I thought I’d sit in when our new resident arrives.” She glanced at her watch. “In a very few minutes. In the meantime, though...” she sashayed across the room and parked in my lap, leaning in to get as close as possible. “I love you, Robert.”
I buried my nose in her hair and inhaled her scent. “I love you, too, darling.” Her warmth soaked into me and I just enjoyed the closeness until there was a tap on the door.
“Come!”
Jen, one of the volunteers from church who helped out from time to time, poked her head around the door. “Are you expecting Harry Stanton?”
Callie slid off my lap. “Yes, we are,” she confirmed.
Jen’s head disappeared, then the door opened and a shabbily-dressed man entered tentatively. His grey beard was trimmed, and his clothes, while tired and worn, seemed clean. “Come in, Mister Stanton,” I said, standing and offering my hand. He took it after a hesitation. “I’m Robert Bethune,” I said, “and this is my wife, Callie. We’re sort of house parents here. Take a seat, please.”
He sat in one of the chairs at the side of the room, and Callie occupied one a space away from him. I trundled my office chair over next to Callie and sat in it. “May we call you Harry?”
“Well,” he hesitated, “I don’t mind, but that’s what I’ve been called on the street. When I was younger...” He stopped, eyes closed, and swallowed before continuing. “My family, and friends, called me, called me ‘Hen’.”
“You’d prefer that?” I asked, and he nodded. “Very well, then, Hen. Feel free to call me Rob. My wife is happy to be Callie.” Callie was nodding.
“Are you in charge, sir ... Rob?”
“Not exactly, Hen. Decisions are taken by the group. Has no-one told you about us?”
“Only that this place helps people who want to live a normal life.”
“Well, that’s the idea. But it’s not something that’s done to you. It’s something that’s done with you. Unless you’re one hundred percent determined, we can’t help. That doesn’t mean you have to be perfect from day one, it just means you have to try from day one.”
“There are not many absolute rules, Hen,” Callie put in, “no drugs and no alcohol on the premises. Other rules are set by the group. We have one group meeting each weekday after breakfast. That usually lasts an hour, and all residents are expected to be present. The rest of the day is taken up by housekeeping, cooking and education. The group agree on a rota for cleaning and cooking, and you get to choose what you study, including practical skills.” She looked at her watch. “Twelve o’clock. You need a room, and it’ll soon be time for lunch.”
“I’ll take you up,” I said, standing. “Welcome to Second Chance House.”