Savouring My Father's Wife I

MY hand found the doorknob, cool metal beneath my fingers. I pushed it open and the faint scent of something floral was already reaching me. I recognized the smell of the soap. It smelled like Laura. The bathroom light was on, spilling into the hall. I heard the shower stop, water still dripping against the tile. Dad left this morning, another business trip, another week of just me and Laura. A week. The thought had been a slow burn in my gut since he packed his ...