Chapter 6 – Denial Dressed in Silk

James stood beneath the shower long after the water had gone cold. He tried to scrub the guilt off his skin, but it clung to him like a second layer, stubborn and suffocating. Mary's voice echoed in his mind—her laughter, her quiet strength, the softness in her eyes when she looked at George.

Now all of it was gone. Buried. Silenced.

He stepped out, wrapped a towel around his waist, and entered the bedroom. Susanna was already there, lounging on the bed in silk, a glass of red wine in hand, her legs crossed elegantly. The image should have comforted him—it used to. But tonight, it felt like a performance he had seen too many times before.

"You've been in there for almost an hour," she said, her tone light, teasing.

He didn't answer. He sat at the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

"You're still thinking about her, aren't you?" she asked, her voice dipping low. "James… you did everything you could."

He let out a dry laugh. "No, I didn't. That's the truth."

She crawled across the bed, trailing her fingers down his spine. "She's gone. There's no changing that. But I'm here. I've always been here."

James turned to her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, there was hesitation—then something darker took over. Desperation. Guilt. Need. He reached for her, pulling her into a kiss that tasted more like punishment than passion.

Their bodies moved together, but the connection felt hollow. Mechanical. James wasn't looking at her—he was chasing silence, trying to drown out the memory of his wife and the tiny voice of his son calling from the hallway.

Afterwards, Susanna curled against him, satisfied. "You see?" she whispered. "You still need me."

James stared at the ceiling, numb. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe I do."

But in the pit of his stomach, he knew something had shifted. The act hadn't soothed him—it had stripped him further. And somewhere, in that cold, unspoken truth, the first crack had formed.