The House That Jack Built Novels & Stories

"That's great. How about this morning?" "I felt kind of odd, leaving the two of them in bed together, after last night, but I got him to promise not to go all the way without me there. I thought I'd get some resistance but Robin swore she'd wait for me. I never expected that." "I'm glad. You think that's going to make things a little better for now?" "I guess," she said. Then she leaned back and I saw an odd little smirk flit across her lips. "You know Jack, the house that lust built is a pretty fucked up house."

"Adrian, you predict the final score for this match." I nodded slightly, calm and composed. "My prediction is 1-3." I gave the answer without hesitation. Every eye in the room turned back to the screen and waited. A little over ten minutes later, the final whistle blew. The score froze at 1-3. Exactly as I predicted. A wave of low astonishment swept through the room. The directors nodded one after another, approval filling their eyes. Relief and pride rose in my father's face. He made the decision in front of everyone.

The sound filled the room. It was such a simple thing. Yet it felt important. I had spent years believing that family was something other people had. Something I could never have. But maybe I had been wrong. Maybe family was not always something you were born into and kept forever. Maybe sometimes it was something you rebuilt. Slowly. Carefully. One day at a time. When we finished eating, we cleared the plates. Margaret sat back down. Her expression suddenly became more serious. "There is something I'd like to ask you both."