The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning vent in the hallway. Joe lay in bed, his eyes open but unfocused, staring at the ceiling. The faint glow of his digital clock read 11:43 PM.

His mind wasn’t on sleep. It was on the book.

He had left it on the shelf earlier that day, deliberately not thinking too hard about it. He hadn’t gone back to see if it was still there. He didn’t need to. He knew she would find it. She always did.

He turned over, pulling the blanket higher, his heart thumping a little faster than usual. He tried not to think about the dog-ear, but the image of that folded corner, that sharp triangle pressed into the page, lingered in his mind like a lit match left on the edge of dry paper.

Then he heard it — the soft creak of a floorboard.

His heart jumped.

The noise was faint but distinct, coming from just outside his room. For a moment, he thought it might be the house settling. But the next creak was closer.

A shadow moved across the thin strip of light under his door.

Joe’s breath slowed, his pulse quickened. Footsteps. Barefoot steps. His stomach twisted as he pulled the blanket to his chest. His eyes darted toward the door, watching the glow from the hallway shift as someone stood on the other side.

The pause was long. Too long.

He counted the seconds.

One ... two ... three...

Then, with a soft tap tap tap, the knuckles on the other side of the door rapped three times.

Joe didn’t answer right away. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. He glanced at the clock. 11:46 PM.

“Joe?” It was her voice. His mother.

His heart skipped, and he shot upright, tossing the blanket off his chest. “Yeah?”

No answer, just the sound of the door slowly creaking open. The dim hallway light spilled in, illuminating a thin column of his room, catching the corner of his dresser and the stack of clothes on the chair. The glow framed Meredith as she stepped inside. She moved slowly, deliberately, her shadow falling long and tall across the floor.

She was wearing a robe. She didn’t normally put any clothes on when making short trips out of the bedroom. Not even for his sake.

His throat felt dry. He glanced away, suddenly very aware of himself — his bare chest, his uncombed hair, the smell of his sheets.

Meredith stood just inside the doorway, her hand gripping the edge of the doorframe as though it were a lifeline. Her fingers curled around the wood, nails tapping lightly, one by one, like counting. Her eyes weren’t on him at first. They were downcast. Focused. Calculating.

Then she looked up.

Her eyes were clear but serious, sharper than he’d seen them all day. There was something behind them — not anger, not disappointment — just intensity. She took one step forward, her other hand rising slowly. That was when he saw it.

The book.

She held it by the spine, the front cover dangling slightly open. A paperback, soft from use, the spine creased with white lines from all the times it had been bent too far. But his eyes weren’t on the cover. They were on the edge of the pages.

One page stood out, bent at the corner like an accusation. A sharp, silent arrow pointing to that scene. The scene with the mother and son.

Her eyes locked on his, holding him still as if she’d pinned him to the wall with a look. She tilted her head just slightly, her gaze unwavering, and she raised the book higher, like a priest raising a Bible.

“Did you do this?” Her voice was calm, dangerously calm. Too calm.

Joe’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His gaze flickered from her face to the book, then back to her face. His heart was pounding now, a steady thud-thud-thud that echoed in his ears.

His first instinct was to lie. Say no. Blame anyone, even if there was just three of them in the home. But her eyes didn’t waver. They stayed on him, unflinching, waiting for the kind of answer she already knew she’d get.

He swallowed. Hard. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Her lips pressed together, a slow inhale through her nose. Her shoulders dropped, just an inch. Her grip on the doorframe loosened, but she didn’t move.

She glanced at the page, thumb rubbing against the bent corner. She pressed it flat with her thumb, smoothing it against the crease, but the fold was still visible — a faint white scar on the edge of the paper. Her eyes lingered on it for a moment too long, like she was reading the words without looking at them. Her lips parted, just barely.

“Why?” she asked, quieter this time. Her tone was so soft, it might have been a plea.

Joe’s breath hitched. He rubbed the back of his neck, the heat of his skin too noticeable now. He knew the answer, but how could he say it out loud? His mind scrambled for something — any answer that didn’t give him away.

“I dunno,” he muttered, eyes on the blanket in his lap. “I just ... liked that part.”

Silence.

Not just quiet. Silence.

It stretched out so long that he felt like he was holding his breath. She didn’t move. She didn’t make a sound. Just the hum of the air vent, blowing cool air over both of them.

“Liked it?” she repeated, her voice low, careful.

He could feel her gaze pressing down on him. He glanced up, heart in his throat. Her eyes were searching him, looking for something. Looking for what? An excuse? An apology? An answer she didn’t want?

Her gaze flicked down, scanning him like she could see through him, through his clothes, through his bones, and into his thoughts. She took one more step forward. The fabric of her robe shifted slightly as she moved. One side of it slipped open at the top, just a hint, revealing the curve of her collarbone and the faintest glimpse of skin below.

Joe’s eyes darted back to the blanket on his lap.

She didn’t adjust the robe.

“Was it the words?” she asked, so softly it was almost a whisper. “Or who was in it?”

His breath caught in his chest. He didn’t look up. Don’t look up.

Her bare feet shuffled forward. She was closer now. Close enough that he could see her toes curling slightly into the carpet. She didn’t come right up to him, but she was closer than she had to be. Too close. The air between them felt warmer.

“I didn’t mean...” His voice cracked. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, took a breath. Say something, say something. “I just thought it was ... I dunno. Different.”

Her brow furrowed. Her head tilted. “Different?” she repeated, like she didn’t believe him. She glanced at the book again, eyes narrowing.

“You marked it,” she said, her voice flat. “On that part.”

Joe opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again. “I just thought it was ... I don’t know, interesting.”

“Interesting,” she echoed.

He swore she said it like a question, but her tone never rose. Her lips pressed together in a tight line. She tilted her head forward, looking at him from beneath her brow. Her eyes weren’t sharp anymore. They were soft now, thoughtful, her lashes half-lowered like she’d just been woken from a dream. Her hand slid down the edge of the doorframe until it rested by her side, still holding the book.

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment too long.

“Don’t mark them again,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. Her gaze flicked to the book, then back to him. “If you like it so much, you’ll remember where to find it.”

Her eyes stayed on him, as if waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t. He watched her turn slowly, her hair shifting on her shoulders, the loose fold of her robe hanging half-open. She stepped toward the door, one slow step after another. Her shadow swept across his floor, stretching longer as she moved.

She didn’t close the door.

Joe stared at the spot where she’d stood, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His heart felt like it had moved from his chest to his ears, pounding loud and fast. He swallowed, leaned back against the headboard, and ran a hand through his hair.

His eyes moved to the door. It was open.

He didn’t know if she’d left it that way on purpose.

He sat there in stunned silence, replaying the encounter in his mind over and over again. The weight of her words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. His heart raced, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of confusion and desire.

A part of him wanted to call out to her, to seek clarification, to unravel the tangled web of tension that now hung between them. But another part of him was paralyzed by fear, by the realization of just how fragile this newfound dynamic was.

Joe’s mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He couldn’t shake the memory of her standing there, so close yet so untouchable. The way she had looked at him, as if seeing through to the deepest corners of his soul, left him feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“Don’t mark them again.” Was she saying to not get caught again?

He glanced at the open door, the threshold between them now an insurmountable divide. Should he follow her? His father was away for the weekend. Should he leave it be and pretend that nothing had passed between them? The uncertainty gnawed at him, each option fraught with its own set of consequences.

He could see the glow in the hallway indicating her door was open as well. With a deep breath, Joe made his decision. Pushing himself off the bed, he crossed the room in determined strides. Once in the hallway, The floorboards creaked beneath his weight. The sound reverberated, sealing his fate. Heart pounding in his chest, he knew there was no turning back now as Meredith glanced up to see him in her doorway.

Reclining on her bed, propped up by pillows, she placed the book face down on the blanket beside her. Her gaze fixed on Joe, his mother lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, very interesting.”

“Come here, Joe,” she said softly, patting the space on the bed beside her. The invitation hung in the air, laden with unspoken promises and possibilities. Without a word, he approached, feeling the heat of her body as he nestled close. She enveloped him in her arms, his head finding its place on her shoulder as her soft breaths tickled his ear.

His hand found its way to her abdomen, fingers tracing patterns on her skin through the parted folds of her robe. The warmth of her body seeped into his own, creating a cocoon of intimacy that wrapped around them both. In this moment, nothing else existed except for the two of them, suspended in time and space.

Meredith’s heartbeat thudded against his chest, a steady rhythm that soothed his racing pulse. Her scent enveloped him, a heady mix of lavender and vanilla that made his head spin. The room was bathed in a soft glow from the bedside as she gently stroked his hair.

As they both embraced each other silently, gently caressing, Joe felt his walls crumbling under the weight of her touch. He closed his eyes and savored the moment, letting himself be enveloped by the warmth of her presence. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their shared sanctuary.

Meredith’s fingers danced along his back, sending shivers down his spine. Her touch was both tender and electric, igniting a fire within him that he had long tried to suppress. Every caress spoke volumes, whispering secrets of longing and desire that neither dared to voice out loud.

In that intimate space between them, time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Joe could hear the soft rustle of fabric as they shifted together, the sound a comforting backdrop to the symphony of their shared breaths. The room was filled with an unspoken tension, a palpable energy that crackled in the air like electricity.