บททั้งหมดของ My Husband Shared Me:A New Year's Filthy Threesome: บทที่ 491 - บทที่ 500

The quiet one checked her shoes first.Lily-Rose saw it from the bed. The child stood in the doorway, looked at the pair by the wall, then at her face.“They’re here,” Lily-Rose said.The child did not answer. They looked under the bed.The bundle was still there, shoved back where the other girl had put it. The quiet one stared at it like a live thing. Then they stood up and went to the kitchen.Lily-Rose sat with her head in her hands.The other girl was already at the table.“They looked,” Lily-Rose said.“I know. I heard the slide.” The girl poured water and did not offer comfort. “Today you do not go near that bundle. If you need a comb, use the one in the bathroom. If you need money, ask Ma. That bag is finished.”His mother pointed at Lily-Rose’s plate.“Eat. A child who finds a leaving-bag will watch you chew. So chew.”Lily-Rose ate. The little one wanted more sauce and did not notice the air. The quiet one noticed everything. They sat with their shoulder touching Lily-Rose’s

The town name came at noon.Lily-Rose was wringing a shirt in the basin when the phone buzzed. She dried her hands on her skirt, went to the back room, and shut the door with her hip.Sienna: I am in [the next town]. Small room above a shop. I can stand. I am not asking you tonight. If you come, come in light. If you cannot, I am still out. That is the first thing.Lily-Rose sat on the bed. Water dripped from her wrist onto the sheet. She did not pack.She opened the door and found the other girl first.“She sent the place,” Lily-Rose said. “Next town. A room above a shop. She said not tonight. Light only, if I go.”The girl closed her book.“You tell Ma. Then you tell Jimmy at the gate. Not in a car. Not in front of the little one.”His mother came in with a peg in her hand. Lily-Rose said it again, slower.His mother put the peg on the table.“You don’t leave this house today. Tomorrow we talk hours. If you go, she walks you to the bus.” She tipped her head at the other girl. “You a

Jimmy took them to the park.Lily-Rose stayed in the yard and washed at the tap until the travel smell left her skin. Cold water. Soap. She scrubbed her hands like the other town was dirt. The other girl stood with her arms folded and watched the time, not her face.“You made the bus,” the girl said. “Don’t float. They will feel it.”“I’m not floating.”“Then wring that cloth and come help with the rice.”They cooked. Steam. Pepper. The ordinary burn of a kitchen that had kept going without her for too long. Lily-Rose stirred. Her body still remembered a small bed and an alley window. She put that memory under the pot lid and left it there.The car came back before the light died. Dust on shoes. The little one ran and hit her legs hard enough to sting. Happy sting. The quiet one stopped on the step, looked at her wet hair, her clean hands, her mouth.They took two fingers. Held them. Let go.No question. No town. No who.Jimmy stayed in the yard. He saw she was here. He saw the sun st

The drive was empty.Lily-Rose stood in the kitchen with a cup she did not drink. His mother’s hand had already come and gone from her head. The other girl hung a wet cloth on the line and came back in wiping her palms.“He said his piece,” the girl said.“Yes.”“Then we eat. Don’t stand there like the road might bring him back.”They ate. The little one talked with rice in their cheek. A ball. A bench. A bird that might have been a leaf. Lily-Rose said “yes” and “show me” and cut the meat smaller. The older child ate from their own plate and let a shoulder rest against her arm. Choosing her. Not pinning her.After plates they stayed in the front room. A lamp. A mat. A torn book. The little one climbed into her lap and went slack by degrees, mouth open, one clip still in their hair. Warm. Heavy. Soap and dust. Lily-Rose took the clip out slow and set it on the table.The older child sat on the floor with their back to her shin and turned pages they already knew. The other girl mended

The last light sat on the green steps. Lily-Rose came out with a cup. She did not drink it. The road was cooling. A radio played two houses down. A dog barked once and shut up. The little one sat low on the step with a stone. They turned it over and over. The older child sat next to Lily-Rose. Not in her lap. Close. Shoulder to her arm. His mother stood at the rail. Arms folded. The other girl sat on the top step with a book she was not reading. Jimmy’s car passed the corner and did not turn in. He had already done his hour. The drive stayed empty. The little one leaned on her knee. “We sleep here?” “Yes.” “In the same bed?” “You in your bed. Me in the back.” “Tomorrow too?” “Tomorrow too.” “You won’t take a bus in the dark?” “No dark bus.” The older child picked at the paint and pressed the flake flat. “Daddy didn’t come in.” “He already came. He does his hour. Then he goes.” “Does he still live here?” “No. He lives where he lives. He is still your