Sarah kissed Mark on the cheek at seven-thirty sharp, the way she always did when she was pretending everything was normal. "Girls' night," she sang, swinging her purse like a high-schooler. "Don't wait up."
Mark nodded, swallowed the lump in his throat, and watched the taillights of her SUV disappear around the corner. He stood in the doorway long enough for the porch light to click off on its timer, then grabbed the keys to the minivan. The kids were at his sister's; the house felt hollow. He told himself he was just going for a drive. Just to clear his head.
The lie tasted like pennies.
He knew Marcus's address by heart now—had memorized it the first time Sarah came home with grass stains on her knees and a hickey shaped like a thumbprint. He parked two houses down, killed the engine, and rolled the window an inch so the glass wouldn't fog. The street was quiet except for a dog barking somewhere behind a fence. Marcus's porch light glowed amber, the color of cheap whiskey.
At 7:58 the front door opened.
Dana stepped out first. Mark had never seen her in person, only imagined her from the faint perfume that clung to Sarah's skin some mornings—something sharp and sweet, like crushed pears. In the flesh she was smaller than he expected, all angles and blonde hair, wearing a scrap of black lace that pretended to be a camisole. The porch light carved shadows under her collarbones. She leaned against the doorframe, one hip cocked, and lit a cigarette with a pink lighter.
Sarah's SUV rolled up the curb. She climbed out in the same sundress she'd worn to the PTA bake sale last week, the one with tiny lemons printed on it. Mark's stomach flipped. Dana flicked the cigarette into the gutter, took three lazy steps, and met Sarah on the walkway.
The kiss wasn't polite. Dana's hand slid straight into Sarah's hair, yanking her head back, and Sarah opened for it like she'd been starving. Mark's breath fogged the windshield. He wiped it with the sleeve of his hoodie and leaned closer. Dana's other hand disappeared under the hem of the lemon dress, fingers working fast. Sarah's knees buckled; she caught herself on Dana's shoulder, mouth still fused, a soft sound leaking out that Mark felt in his teeth.
Dana broke the kiss first. She said something—Mark couldn't hear, but Sarah laughed, low and filthy, the laugh she used to save for him on anniversaries. Then Dana grabbed Sarah's wrist and pulled her inside. The door shut with a click that sounded final.
Mark sat frozen. The porch light stayed on. He counted heartbeats—one, two, thirty—until the living-room curtain twitched. A silhouette: Sarah pressed against the glass, dress rucked up to her waist, Dana behind her, mouth on her neck. The angle was wrong; Mark couldn't see faces, just shapes moving in the gold spill of lamplight. Sarah's head fell back. Dana's hand moved between her legs in a rhythm Mark knew by heart.
He didn't remember unzipping. His cock was already out, aching, leaking onto the steering wheel. He spat into his palm and stroked slow, matching the shadow-Dana's tempo. Every time Sarah's hips jerked, his fist tightened. The minivan smelled like vinyl and shame.
Minutes bled. The curtain stilled. Then the front door opened again.
Dana stepped onto the porch alone. She was naked now except for a pair of Sarah's panties—Mark recognized the pale-blue lace with the tiny bow. She held them up like a trophy, sniffed the crotch, and smiled straight at the minivan.
Mark's hand froze mid-stroke.
Dana crooked a finger. Come here.
He couldn't move. His legs felt filled with wet cement. Dana tilted her head, amused, then padded barefoot down the steps. The porch light caught the sheen of sweat on her thighs. She stopped at the driver-side window, close enough that Mark smelled sex and cigarette smoke and the coconut lotion Sarah used on Sundays.
"Hi, cuck," Dana whispered. Her voice was honey over broken glass. "Sarah said you might show up."
Mark's mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Dana leaned in. The lace panties dangled from two fingers, brushing the glass. "She's on her knees right now. Marcus has her hair. Want to watch?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She reached past him, popped the door handle, and the dome light flared on. Mark's cock bobbed in the sudden glare, slick and ridiculous. Dana's gaze flicked down, lips curling.
"Pathetic," she said, almost kindly. "But cute."
Behind her, the front door cracked wider. Marcus filled the frame, shirtless, sweat gleaming on his chest. Sarah knelt at his feet, lemon dress pooled on the floor, mouth stretched wide around him. Her eyes were closed, lashes wet. Marcus looked straight at the minivan and lifted one hand in a lazy salute.
Dana tapped the window. "Clock's ticking, Mark. You coming in, or do I close the curtains and let you finish in your soccer-dad ride?"
Mark's hand was still wrapped around himself. He couldn't let go. Couldn't move. Dana's smile sharpened.
"Your choice," she said, and turned back toward the house, hips swaying, panties swinging from her finger like a white flag.
The porch light blinked once—then cut to black.
Inside, Sarah moaned loud enough to rattle the glass.