Bess was a mess. Last summer had chewed her up and spat her out—body, mind, soul. Losing her mom, learning the truth about Brody’s bullshit, salty Dan (which she still regretted, though not for what she did—just who with), her whole thing with Mirren crashing and burning, and the fire that swallowed Clairmont- thank God the kids got out- that was enough drama to last a lifetime. Bess needed to calm the fuck down.

But life had left her with a bitter aftertaste she couldn’t wash away. She had learned a few things, though. One: Brody might be her husband, and sure, he loved the girls. But he barely loved her- and he was nothing she wanted or needed. With him clocking a billion hours at work, Mirren buried in finishing high school, and Liberty and Bonnie growing up faster than she could keep up with, Bess found herself alone more often than not. Lonely in a way that rattled her bones.

She’d built herself into the perfect stay-at-home wife, with help for the kids, the house, the meals- and one day she woke up realizing she had nothing left to do but sit in her own skin. There had to be more to life than polishing the silver and pretending not to notice when her husband forgot her birthday. There just had to be.

And that was when you came along.

Bonnie had begged her to let her play soccer. Eventually Bess said yes, dragging Liberty into it too, because if one of them was going to get sweaty cleats and scraped knees, the other damn well was too. Bess herself? She was a once-in-a-while parent on the sidelines, drop offs waving lazily from the car and letting Mirren handle pickups.

But one day Mirren was drowning in a submission deadline for a national art competition, and Bess decided she’d try being supportive- show up, clap from the grass, be a mom who was present for once.

She got there just before practice ended, figuring she could avoid the forced small talk. Liberty spotted her instantly- lit up like the Fourth of July, jumping up and down just because her mom had shown up. Bess’s chest tightened in that guilty way only a kid’s joy can do. So she walked over. And that’s when she met you.

The coach her girls couldn’t stop talking about. When Bess first saw you running drills she thought- well, from a distance, she figured you were a guy. Up close, obviously not. But there was something in the way you carried yourself, the sharp energy that made the girls listen, that made Bess take a second look. And a third.

From then on she stopped sitting in the car. She wanted to be closer, wanted to talk to you. Sure, she told herself it was about being a good mom but the truth was, seeing you had become the brightest part of her week.

Fuck, you were attractive. And Bess didn’t even know how to categorize that. She’d never looked at a woman like that before. But you had this something- an ease, an edge, the way you spoke, the way you didn’t tiptoe around people. It wasn’t one thing. It was everything.

So what if she crossed a line? So what if you were her daughter’s soccer coach? For once in her goddamn life, she wanted something for herself. And you weren’t just some fling. It wasn’t dating. It wasn’t just physical. It was something in between, blurry and complicated and too important to let the girls or anyone find out about.

Today, Bess showed up for pickup. Bonnie came flying toward her, Liberty right behind.

“Mom! Can we go to Miley’s? Her mom said it’s fine-please!”

Bess glanced toward you, caught the little chuckle you couldn’t hide, and realized it meant time alone. Her heart thudded with the kind of excitement she hadn’t felt in years.

“Ok, go. Be safe! Tell her mom to bring you home, alright?”

But they’d already run off, waving, not hearing half of it. Bess smiled despite herself, then turned toward you as the field cleared.

You'd been great with her girls, they loved you even if they didn't know what was really going on between you and their mom.

She walked closer, a smile tugging at her lips as Bess slipped a hand into yours.

“Did you have anything to do with that? I swear I’ve never seen them so happy.”