Savouring My Father's Wife I

Savouring My Father's Wife I MY hand found the doorknob, cool metal beneath my fingers. I pushed it open and the faint scent of something floral was already reaching me. I recognized the smell of the soap. It smelled like Laura. The bathroom light was on, spilling into the hall. I heard the shower stop, water still dripping against the tile. Dad left this morning, another business trip, another week of just me and Laura. A week. The thought had been a slow burn in my gut since he packed his bags. I stepped inside, not really thinking. Just moving. She stood there with a towel loosely draped over her head and her back to me. Naked. My breath hitched. The steam still clung to the air, making the edges of her silhouette soft, hazy. Her skin, pearlescent in the soft light, goosebumps ris