The Lingerie Thief Next Door - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading The Lingerie Thief Next Door, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of The Lingerie Thief Next Door.
We sank into the couch cushions like deflated balloons.
I pressed my lips into a tight line. This wasn't exactly the scenario I'd imagined, but beggars can't be choosers. My fingers flew across my phone screen as I shot my husband a frantic text: "Get home NOW."
Leonard cleared his throat with that awkward rumble of his. "Mia, this is my friend, Margaret Roscente."
I kept my mouth shut. Everything could wait until his son walked through that door.
Now that the initial shock had worn off, the dull throbbing in my abdomen returned with a vengeance. I melted into the couch, completely spent.
Margaret's eyes scanned me before she leaned forward, her voice dripping with faux concern. "Honey, you look pale as a ghost. Is it... you know, that time?"
I side-eyed her with a frown. Who discusses menstrual cycles in mixed company?
When I didn't bite, she just shrugged and waltzed into our kitchen like she owned the place. Watching her move with such familiarity, the puzzle pieces clicked together - the suspiciously clean house lately, the sudden gourmet meals appearing on our table.
She returned bearing a steaming mug. "Ginger tea. Works wonders."
The warmth seeped into my palms, transporting me back to when my mother-in-law would press an identical cup into my hands during my worst days.
Then I caught Leonard gazing at Margaret with that lovesick puppy look, and a fresh wave of grief crashed over me.
Thirty agonizing minutes later, my husband burst through the door looking like he'd run a marathon. His eyes locked onto the stranger on our couch, then darted to me in silent question.
After my explanation, Leonard sat with his head hung low, the very image of shame. Margaret had shrunk into the corner, cheeks flaming as she picked at her sleeve.
My husband barked out a disbelieving laugh. "Dad, what the hell were you—"
"It's not her fault!" Leonard cut in. "I invited her. She was just helping around the house, that's all."
My husband shot me a look, took a steadying breath, and tried again. "Then give it to me straight. What's really going on here?"
Under his son's piercing stare, Leonard squirmed before mumbling, "We met on ConnectPlus. Been talking nearly a year now. She's... she's a widow, no kids. We thought maybe we could be company for each other."
My husband scoffed. "Logically, we wouldn't object. Mom's been gone three years. But why the secrecy? Why not just tell us?"
Leonard's shoulders hunched like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
After more prodding, he finally peeked up through his lashes. "Last year... I did ask what you'd think. You said at my age I should just live quietly. That finding someone was unnecessary. You even said—what if she had health problems? That she'd become our burden."
His voice trailed off into nothingness.
The realization hit us like a ton of bricks.
We had said that.
Last winter, when Leonard had casually floated the idea of remarriage over dinner.
How had we responded?
My husband had waved it off. "Women that age just want your pension. Why invite trouble?"
I'd piled on: "And if she's got grown kids? Where would they stay? Here? We'd be dealing with her family drama forever. No kids? Then we're stuck being her nurses."
Leonard had gone quiet after that.
We'd assumed it was just senior whimsy.
Turned out he'd been testing the waters all along.
I pressed my lips into a tight line. This wasn't exactly the scenario I'd imagined, but beggars can't be choosers. My fingers flew across my phone screen as I shot my husband a frantic text: "Get home NOW."
Leonard cleared his throat with that awkward rumble of his. "Mia, this is my friend, Margaret Roscente."
I kept my mouth shut. Everything could wait until his son walked through that door.
Now that the initial shock had worn off, the dull throbbing in my abdomen returned with a vengeance. I melted into the couch, completely spent.
Margaret's eyes scanned me before she leaned forward, her voice dripping with faux concern. "Honey, you look pale as a ghost. Is it... you know, that time?"
I side-eyed her with a frown. Who discusses menstrual cycles in mixed company?
When I didn't bite, she just shrugged and waltzed into our kitchen like she owned the place. Watching her move with such familiarity, the puzzle pieces clicked together - the suspiciously clean house lately, the sudden gourmet meals appearing on our table.
She returned bearing a steaming mug. "Ginger tea. Works wonders."
The warmth seeped into my palms, transporting me back to when my mother-in-law would press an identical cup into my hands during my worst days.
Then I caught Leonard gazing at Margaret with that lovesick puppy look, and a fresh wave of grief crashed over me.
Thirty agonizing minutes later, my husband burst through the door looking like he'd run a marathon. His eyes locked onto the stranger on our couch, then darted to me in silent question.
After my explanation, Leonard sat with his head hung low, the very image of shame. Margaret had shrunk into the corner, cheeks flaming as she picked at her sleeve.
My husband barked out a disbelieving laugh. "Dad, what the hell were you—"
"It's not her fault!" Leonard cut in. "I invited her. She was just helping around the house, that's all."
My husband shot me a look, took a steadying breath, and tried again. "Then give it to me straight. What's really going on here?"
Under his son's piercing stare, Leonard squirmed before mumbling, "We met on ConnectPlus. Been talking nearly a year now. She's... she's a widow, no kids. We thought maybe we could be company for each other."
My husband scoffed. "Logically, we wouldn't object. Mom's been gone three years. But why the secrecy? Why not just tell us?"
Leonard's shoulders hunched like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
After more prodding, he finally peeked up through his lashes. "Last year... I did ask what you'd think. You said at my age I should just live quietly. That finding someone was unnecessary. You even said—what if she had health problems? That she'd become our burden."
His voice trailed off into nothingness.
The realization hit us like a ton of bricks.
We had said that.
Last winter, when Leonard had casually floated the idea of remarriage over dinner.
How had we responded?
My husband had waved it off. "Women that age just want your pension. Why invite trouble?"
I'd piled on: "And if she's got grown kids? Where would they stay? Here? We'd be dealing with her family drama forever. No kids? Then we're stuck being her nurses."
Leonard had gone quiet after that.
We'd assumed it was just senior whimsy.
Turned out he'd been testing the waters all along.
End of The Lingerie Thief Next Door Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to The Lingerie Thief Next Door book page.