She Used Me for a Dare… Now I Own Her Mother

The house was empty.

David and the kids were still at the hospital, and for the first time since Nina's ordeal began, she had the place to herself.

The silence wasn't innocent anymore... it pulsed with anticipation, as though the house itself knew what they were about to do.

Or a test, she thought. To see if I'm brave enough to claim what I want.

She stood before her closet, the doors open wide, surveying her options with an intensity she hadn't felt in years.

What do you wear for something like this?

Her fingers drifted across hangers, dismissing one outfit after another. Too formal. Too casual. Too motherly. Too obvious.

She needed something that said I didn't try too hard while also making it impossible for him not to notice.

Her hand paused on a silk blouse. Deep blue. The color that always made her eyes look brighter. It had been hanging untouched for months, maybe longer.

A gift from David on their anniversary . She'd tried wearing it for him a few times, but he'd never seemed to notice.

She pulled it from the closet, holding it up to the light.

A shiver ran through her. These were the clothes meant for David… and yet, here she was, wearing them for Alex.

Would he notice the way it draped? The way the fabric would catch against her skin?

Would his eyes linger?

Her pulse quickened at the thought.

She laid the blouse on the bed and returned to the closet, selecting a skirt. Not too short. Not too long. Something elegant but approachable. Something that suggested she'd dressed for comfort but still cared about how she looked.

Because she did care.

God, she cared more than she wanted to admit.

Linda began to undress, her movements slow and deliberate. Each piece of clothing she removed felt like shedding a layer of the person she'd been forced to become.

The dutiful wife.

The exhausted mother.

The woman who'd made herself small and invisible to keep everyone else comfortable.

Tonight, she wanted to be someone else.

She slipped the blouse over her head, the silk cool against her skin. It settled perfectly, skimming her shoulders and falling just right across her collarbone.

She fastened the buttons slowly, her fingers surprisingly steady despite the nervous energy thrumming through her.

The skirt came next. She stepped into it, pulling it up over her hips and securing the clasp at her waist.

Then she turned to face the mirror.

The woman staring back at her was... different.

Not the exhausted mother who'd felt invisible for years. Not the dutiful wife going through comfortable motions. This woman's eyes blazed with purpose, cheeks flushed with anticipation.

When did I stop feeling alive? The question hit her with startling clarity. When did I become so small, so safe, so... dead inside?

She adjusted the neckline of the blouse, letting it sit a fraction lower. Not indecent. Just... inviting.

Would he notice?

Would his eyes drop there, just for a second, before he caught himself?

The thought sent heat rushing through her.

She imagined him standing exactly where she was standing now, watching her. Those dark eyes tracking every movement, every subtle shift of fabric against skin.

What would he think?

Would he see her as beautiful? Desirable?

Or would he see her as she'd always feared... too old, too desperate, too wrong?

No. She pushed the thought away forcefully. He wouldn't have looked at her the way he did if he saw her like that. He wouldn't have let those moments linger, charged and heavy with unspoken possibility.

He wanted this too.

She was sure of it.

Almost sure.

Meeting her own gaze in the mirror, she felt a surge of gratitude for these forbidden feelings. They'd awakened something she thought had died years ago... the sense that she could still want, still desire, still choose passion over safety.

Thank you, she whispered to her reflection, though she wasn't sure who or what she was thanking. Thank you for making me feel like a woman again.

She smoothed the fabric one more time, admiring the way the blouse caught the light, the way the skirt accentuated curves she'd forgotten she had.

Yes. This was right.

This was perfect.

Linda glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Fifteen minutes had already passed since his call.

Five more minutes.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she crossed to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to see the driveway.

Empty. Dark. Nothing but the glow of streetlights and the occasional car passing by on the main road.

She let the curtain fall back into place and turned, her gaze sweeping across the bedroom. Everything was exactly as it should be. Clean. Inviting. The lighting soft enough to be flattering but not so dim it seemed staged.

Her eyes drifted to the door.

Still closed. Still silent.

He wasn't here yet.

But he would be.

Soon.

What would he do when he walked in?

The question bloomed in her mind, unbidden and impossible to dismiss.

Would he be cautious at first? Keeping his distance, hands in his pockets, that careful control he always wore like armor firmly in place?

Or would he see it in her eyes immediately... the invitation, the surrender, the desperate need to be wanted?

She imagined the sound of his footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Deliberate. The door opening, his silhouette framed against the light from the hall.

And then his eyes would find her, standing here in this blouse he'd never seen before, in this room that suddenly felt like it belonged to someone else entirely.

Would he notice?

Would he see the effort she'd put in, the thought behind every choice?

God, she hoped he would.

Linda pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to steady the flutter of nerves and anticipation coiling there.

She moved back to the window, unable to help herself. The curtain slid aside again, her eyes scanning the empty street.

Nothing.

Not yet.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and returned to the mirror.

The woman staring back at her looked nervous. Excited. Alive.

When was the last time David had looked at her like she mattered? Like she was more than just a fixture in his life, a comfortable presence he could rely on to always be there, always be willing, always be... convenient?

She couldn't remember.

But she could imagine Alex looking at her like that.

She could imagine him stepping into this room, his eyes sweeping over her, and actually seeing her. Not as David's wife. Not as anyone's mother.

Just as Linda.

A woman.

Desirable. Wanted. Chosen.

Her breath hitched at the thought.

She imagined his hands. Strong. Steady. The kind of hands that didn't fumble or ask permission because they already knew the answer.

Would he touch her face first? Trace the line of her jaw, tilt her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his eyes?

Or would he reach for her waist, his fingers finding the fabric of the blouse she'd chosen just for him?

Would he notice how soft the silk was? How easily it would slip beneath his hands?

Linda's fingers curled into the fabric, her breathing shallow.

And she would let him.

God help her, she would let him do whatever he wanted.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine, equal parts terror and exhilaration.

She glanced at the door again, then back at the window.

Still nothing.

But any minute now...

Another glance at the clock.

Three minutes.

Her pulse quickened.

She smoothed the blouse again, a nervous habit she couldn't seem to break. The silk felt cool against her palms, grounding her even as her thoughts spiraled into dangerous territory.

She imagined the door opening. His eyes finding hers across the room. The silence stretching between them, heavy and charged with everything they couldn't say.

And then...

Would he speak first? Ask her why she'd called him here?

Or would he already know?

Would he see the answer written in the way she'd dressed, the way she stood, the way her breath caught when he looked at her?

Linda moved back to the window one more time, her hand trembling slightly as she pulled the curtain aside.

Headlights.

Her heart stopped.

A car was turning onto their street, slowing as it approached the house.

This is it.

She let the curtain fall and stepped back, her entire body thrumming with nervous energy.

The sound of an engine grew louder, closer.

Then it stopped.

Right in front of the house.

A car door opened. Closed.

Footsteps on the driveway.

Linda's hand flew to her blouse, smoothing it one last time. Her reflection caught her eye in the mirror... flushed cheeks, bright eyes, lips slightly parted.

She looked like a woman on the edge of something reckless.

And she was.

The footsteps grew closer. Crossing the driveway. Approaching the door.

Any second now.

Any second, everything would change.

I deserve this, she told herself, the words firmer now. More certain. I deserve to feel wanted. To feel alive. To choose something just for me.

The doorbell rang.

The sound cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and final and irreversible.

Linda's breath caught in her throat. Her hand flew to her chest, feeling her heart hammering against her ribs... frantic, wild, alive.

For one suspended moment, she stood frozen, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

The woman looking back at her was flushed, breathless, trembling on the edge of something that would change everything.

Then she moved.

Toward the door.

Toward him.

Toward whatever came next.

He was here.