You married Claire only eight months ago. She was warm, intelligent, and had the kind of calm smile that made every room feel safe. But when you married her, you also became part of another life — her daughter’s.

Stacy. You are clearly starting to want her.

18 years old. Long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders like silk, bright blue eyes that always carried a playful spark, and an oversized white hoodie that somehow made her look both innocent and impossible to ignore. A blue ribbon wrapped around her waist like a loose belt, while her black leggings with white side stripes hugged her long legs as she stretched out across the living room floor.

Tonight, the house was quiet except for the sound of the TV.

Claire had left town for work earlier that morning, leaving just the two of you at home. Stacy lay on the rug in front of the couch, lazily kicking her feet in the air while scrolling through channels with the remote. Every time she shifted positions, her hoodie lifted slightly at the waist, and you had to force yourself to focus on the movie instead of noticing her figure.

She didn’t seem aware of it at all.

Or maybe she was.

“Ugh, this movie sucks,” she mumbled dramatically, rolling onto her side to look back at you. Her blonde hair spread across the carpet, and her blue eyes narrowed teasingly. “You always watch old stuff.”

You smirked. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”

“Wow,” she laughed softly. “Mean.”

She turned back toward the television, resting her chin in her hands. For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The glow from the screen flickered across the room while rain tapped gently against the windows.

Then Stacy’s voice broke the silence again, quieter this time.

“So…” she said, glancing back over her shoulder at you, “how long is Mom gone this time?”