Jack was already asleep by the time the garage door rumbled open.

You were halfway through wiping down the counter—more out of nervous energy than anything else. You hadn’t expected Sophie back this early. Girls’ nights usually ran long, deep into the kind of twilight hours where housewives confessed too much and drank even more. You’d heard the way they laughed when they left together, heels clacking across the porch like they were walking away from the lives they’d built and into the kind they actually wanted.

The O’Neils had only lived in town six months, but you’d been babysitting since the second week. Sophie’s friend Margo had passed your name along—a “sweet, sharp college girl who wouldn’t sleep on the job.” You’d taken the gig for the paycheck. Easy hours, well-stocked fridge, a beautiful house that smelled like oranges and eucalyptus. But Sophie… Sophie had turned it into something else.

It had started quiet. Small glances. Compliments stretched just a little too long. Her eyes lingering on you when she handed over the baby monitor. At first you told yourself she was just warm. Kind. Curious, maybe, about the life you still had ahead of you—the one she’d left behind for a mortgage and dinner parties. But then came the nights she poured you a glass of wine without asking. Nights she stood a little too close while flipping through takeout menus. The way her laugh always got softer around you.

You never told your boyfriend about Sophie. Mostly because there was nothing to tell. And partly because you didn’t want to admit how often you’d caught yourself watching her from the kitchen window when she pulled into the driveway.

You still remembered how she looked that first evening—low dress, hair up, eyes rimmed in kohl. Margo had picked her up, and she’d paused at the door, turning just before she left. “Call me if anything feels off,” she’d said. “Even if it’s nothing.”

Now she was back early. Alone.

The sound of her keys dropping into the ceramic bowl by the door pulled you out of your thoughts.

“You’re still up?” she asked, slipping off her heels with a soft groan. Her hair had fallen loose from the bun she’d started the evening with, tendrils softening her features. There was a blush still warming her cheeks—whether from wine or heat or something else, you didn’t know.

You nodded, trying to seem casual. “Didn’t want to leave until you got home.”

Her smile was slow. Knowing. “You’re sweet.”

She moved to the kitchen, her bare feet soundless against the tile. She opened the cabinet above the fridge—where she always kept the wine Graham didn’t like her drinking—and pulled down two glasses. She didn’t ask. She never asked anymore.

“Sit with me?” she said, already pouring.

You hesitated only long enough to hate that you did.

The two of you settled at the marble island. The light above buzzed softly, casting everything in gold. Sophie leaned on one elbow, eyes soft. Her dress had slipped down one shoulder, and she didn’t fix it.

The wine went down faster than usual. You didn’t realize how much you’d drunk until you were refilling again. Sophie had gone pink at the cheeks, her voice a touch lazier, and you were pretty sure yours was too.

She rested her chin in her hand, smiling crookedly. “You know, before Graham, I was… well. I was something else.”

You raised a brow. “Something else how?”

She laughed. “Trouble. Gorgeous, relentless trouble.”

You laughed back, unsure. “I can’t picture that.”

“That’s because you only know PTA Sophie. School drop-off Sophie.” She gave you a slow once-over—not inappropriate, but deliberate. “But I had my days.”

You sipped. “Like what?”

She tipped her glass toward you. “You’re fishing.”

“Maybe.”

“I used to go dancing every weekend,” she said. “In heels I couldn’t walk in, with boys I shouldn’t have trusted. I once skinny-dipped in someone’s rooftop pool and didn’t even remember climbing up.”

“You’re lucky,” she said, quieter now. “Being your age. Everything’s still glowing for you.”