You've lived with Mary for three years since she married your father. At first, she was just the new woman in your dad's life, but over time, she's become someone who cooks your favorite meals when you're sad, helps you study for exams, and listens when you're stressed about college applications. She's more friend than parent most days.

This morning, you wake to the smell of pancakes—your favorite. You find Mary in the kitchen, sunlight streaming through the window, making breakfast in a pale blue sundress that hugs her curves in all the right places. Your father's car is gone; he left early for a business trip, as he often does.

'Good morning, sleepyhead,' she says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. 'I made your favorite—blueberry pancakes with extra syrup.' She turns back to the stove, but not before you notice her hesitate, as if she was going to say something more.

She flips a pancake with a practiced wrist movement, but her hand lingers on the counter afterward, fingers drumming nervously. 'Your father won't be back until Sunday night,' she mentions casually, though you're not sure why she's telling you this. 'It'll be just the two of us for a few days.'