Mike and Kate

Mike Anderson gripped the wheel tighter, his knuckles white as the late autumn sun bled across the horizon. The highway stretched like an old wound, scarred and weathered, cutting through the flat, endless expanse of the Midwest. The GPS announced his destination was only fifteen minutes away, but his stomach had been in knots for the last fifty miles.

Pine Creek. A name that once felt like home now left a bitter taste in his mouth. Twelve years had done little to dull the sharp edges of his memories, and coming back felt like picking at scabs he’d tried to forget.

His father was dead. Graham Anderson, the abusive tyrant of his childhood, the man who had beaten discipline into Mike with a belt when he was too young to fight back, was finally gone. The man who left bruises on his skin and scars in his mind, whose voice still echoed in the corners of his thoughts. Dead at sixty, cancer eating away at him the way he had once devoured everyone else's peace.

But Graham’s **** didn’t bring Mike relief. It brought him here, back to Pine Creek, the place he had sworn to leave behind forever.

The town hadn’t changed much, which annoyed Mike more than it comforted him. The same old diners, the same faded storefronts with chipping paint. Even the old logging trucks trundling down Main Street looked like they belonged to the same fleet his father had owned. Graham’s kingdom, small and suffocating, seemed to have frozen in time.

The funeral was held at the old Lutheran church, a modest building with a steeple that scraped at the gray November sky. Mike parked his car at the edge of the lot, his hands trembling as he shut off the engine. He didn’t want to go inside. Not really. But obligation and curiosity had dragged him here, and there was no turning back.

The crowd was smaller than he expected. Graham’s employees, a few business associates, and the inevitable cluster of townsfolk who came to gawk rather than mourn. Mike scanned the faces quickly, almost instinctively, and froze when he saw her.

Kate Dickens.

No. Kate Anderson.

She stood near the casket, dressed in black, her red hair swept into a neat chignon. A thin veil hung over her face, but even through the delicate lace, Mike could see the features that had haunted his teenage years. She hadn’t aged a day. At thirty, she was still heartbreakingly beautiful, soft, delicate, and utterly out of place in a town like Pine Creek.

Mike’s chest tightened. He hated her. Or maybe he hated that he didn’t hate her enough.

She had been his first crush, the girl who smiled at him during English class, who once laughed at one of his terrible jokes. And then, twelve years ago, less than two months after his mother, Elisabeth Anderson’s suicide, Mike had walked in on Kate having sex with his father. The image was seared into his brain. She was naked and riding his father, a man thirty years her senior, while his father grunted in pleasure. The sight had shattered something inside him.

Mike hadn’t even yelled. He had just turned around, walked out, and never looked back.

Until now.

Mike left Pine Creek twelve years ago, packing up what little he had and heading for the nearest big city. College became his escape route, the hours he'd spent studying computer science a distraction from the bitterness festering inside him. He worked himself to the bone, juggling scholarships, student loans, and part-time jobs, refusing to take a single cent from Graham. He didn’t care that his father had remarried, married Kate, no less.

Years of hard work had paid off. Mike was now a successful programmer, debt-free, earning high six figures from a job that allowed remote work, and living comfortably. He hadn’t needed Pine Creek. He hadn’t needed Graham.

And he certainly hadn’t needed her.

But here she was, standing in front of the casket, his father’s beautiful young widow. His stepmother.

Kate glanced up, her eyes locking with his across the room. For a moment, neither of them moved. Mike felt like a teenager again, awkward and raw, his emotions too big for his body. But he wasn’t that kid anymore.

He broke the stare first, shoving his hands into his coat pockets and heading toward an empty pew at the back of the church. He could feel her gaze following him, but he refused to look back.

The service was brief, the pastor’s words generic and hollow. Mike barely heard them, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of anger, grief, and something he couldn’t quite name.

Afterward, the mourners trickled out, leaving him alone in the church’s shadowy interior. Alone, except for her.

“Mike,” she said softly.

He turned, his chest tightening. She had removed the veil, her eyes shining with something between guilt and nostalgia.

“Kate,” he replied, his voice colder than he intended.

She hesitated, her hands twisting nervously. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Neither did I,” he said, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

They stood in silence, the weight of twelve years pressing down on them. Finally, she spoke again.

“Graham… I know you didn't get along. But he was still your father.”

“Was he?” Mike’s voice was sharp now, slicing through the heavy air. “Because I don’t remember him being much of one.”

She flinched but didn’t argue. Instead, she stepped closer, her presence as disarming as it was infuriating.

“I’m sorry, Mike,” she whispered. “For everything.”

He wanted to tell her it wasn’t enough, that no apology could undo what had happened. But the words stuck in his throat.

Because despite everything, she was still the girl he had fallen for all those years ago. And now, she was a woman, his stepmother, his father’s widow.

And, maybe, something else entirely.

Mike hadn’t planned to stay in Pine Creek any longer than necessary. The funeral was supposed to be the end of it, a brief, bitter farewell to his abusive father, the man who had made his childhood hell, the man whose shadow had loomed over his life like a cloud. He’d expected to drive out of town the same way he came in, leaving this place and its ghosts in the rearview mirror.

Instead, he found himself back in his old house, a place he had sworn never to set foot in again.

“You don’t need to rent a room at the motel,” Kate had said softly as the last mourners filtered out of the church. “You can spend the night here.”

He should’ve said no. He’d been ready to. But then he heard himself agreeing.

“All right.”

And now here he was, sitting in the worn wooden chair at the kitchen table, the same chair he’d used as a kid. The room hadn’t changed much, the same beige walls, the same outdated appliances, even the faint smell of pine-scented cleaner that Kate must’ve scrubbed into the counters.

Kate moved around the kitchen, cooking dinner. He watched her from his seat, her movements fluid and practiced. She had changed out of her funeral dress. She now wore tight blue jeans and a fitted gray t-shirt, her fiery red hair loose around her shoulders.

The sight of her hit him harder than he expected, stirring something that felt uncomfortably close to desire. She was stunning, still the girl he’d once fallen for, yet undeniably a woman now. A woman who had belonged to his abusive father for twelve years.

It felt surreal, watching his first crush, and his father’s thirty-year-old widow, preparing a meal for him, like some warped echo of a past that never was.

That thought alone turned his stomach. Jealousy, sick and bitter, coiled in his gut.

“How were you, Mike?” Kate asked, her voice soft, hesitant, as though testing the waters of their first real conversation in twelve years.

“Busy,” he replied, keeping his tone clipped. “Work, studying, sleep. The grind.” He didn’t elaborate.

She gave a wistful smile, her attention drifting back to the pot on the stove. “Well, I became a housewife for your dad. Never went to college, never had a career… Graham supported me.” She sighed, chopping the vegetables. “I spent most of my time raising the kids.”

The kids. Mike’s stomach churned.

He’d seen them at the funeral. Four of them. The fruits of Graham Anderson’s loins. Mike's half-siblings.

The oldest, Jennifer, had inherited Kate’s red hair, but her eyes, sharp and calculating, were unmistakably their father’s. The second, Daniel, was practically Graham’s clone, right down to his blonde hair and the squared jaw Mike had always hated seeing in the mirror. Nancy, the third, was also blonde, though she had inherited Kate’s softer features. The youngest, Brandon, was a freckled redhead, his wide, innocent eyes a painful contrast to the ugliness of his lineage.

Four kids. Graham had made four children with Kate, the girl Mike had once dreamed about as a teenager, back when the worst thing he could imagine was her not noticing him. Now, the very thought filled him with a sick, boiling rage.

“You… you seem like a good mother,” he said stiffly, trying to keep his voice steady, though the words felt like jagged stones in his mouth.

Kate glanced at him over her shoulder, her lips quirking in a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. “I try. They’re good kids, you know.”

Mike clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists under the table. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to think about Graham, the man who had left him broken and bruised, creating a picture-perfect family with the girl who should have been his.

“They seem… happy,” he managed, though the words tasted like ash.

Kate turned back to the stove, her movements slowing. “They are. But Graham wasn’t easy to live with, even for them. You know how he could be.”

Mike’s chest tightened. Yes, he knew exactly how Graham could be. The scars, visible and invisible, were evidence enough. The ache in his buttocks from his father’s belt from when he was a kid still felt fresh in his mind, the phantom pain and humiliation merging with his anger.

He wondered how much of that man his siblings had seen, and how much Kate had endured, raising his father’s children in this house, the one that had once felt like a prison to Mike.

Dinner was ready soon after, neatly roasted chicken breasts surrounded by cooked vegetables. Kate set the plates on the table, taking the seat across from him. For a while, neither of them spoke, the clink of forks against plates filling the silence.

Finally, Kate broke it. “I’m glad you came, Mike,” she said quietly. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

He looked up at her, his expression unreadable. “Why?”

Her brow furrowed. “Why what?”

“Why did you marry him?” The question came out sharper than he intended, but he didn’t care. The anger that had simmered beneath the surface for years threatened to spill over. “He was old enough to be your father. He was my father.”

Kate’s face paled, her lips parting as though to protest, but no words came. Finally, she sighed, lowering her gaze. “After your mom…”

Mike slammed his fork down, the sound reverberating in the small kitchen. “Don’t.”

Kate flinched, but she didn’t look away.

“Don’t bring her into this,” he said, his voice low and venomous. “Don’t you dare.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Then, Kate nodded, her shoulders slumping.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Mike didn’t respond. He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the floor, and stood.

“I need some air,” he muttered, heading for the back door without looking back.

As he stepped outside, the crisp night air bit at his skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the fire burning in his chest. He leaned against the porch railing, staring out at the dark, quiet town he once called home.

This house, this town, it all felt like a trap, dragging him back into the nightmare he’d spent twelve years trying to escape.

And Kate… Kate was the worst part of it. Not because of who she was, but because of what she represented. The girl he’d loved, the woman he couldn’t have, the widow of the man who had made his childhood hell.

He didn’t know what was worse: the anger, the jealousy, or the fact that, despite it all, he still couldn’t look at her without feeling something he didn’t want to name.

It was past midnight when Mike finally returned to the house. The air outside had turned bitterly cold, but he’d lingered on the porch for as long as he could, trying to sort through the tangled mess of emotions the day had dredged up. It hadn’t worked.

The house was quiet when he stepped inside, the dim glow of a single lamp in the living room casting long shadows on the walls. The kids were asleep, thank god, but Kate was still awake. She was curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over her legs, a mug of tea cradled in her hands.

“You’re back,” she said softly, her voice carrying no judgment, only a quiet acknowledgment of his presence.

“Yeah,” he replied, not sure what else to say.

An awkward silence stretched between them before Mike, **** to fill it, asked, “How’s the logging business?”

Kate sighed and set her mug down on the coffee table. “Not good,” she admitted. “You know how bad the economy is. Small towns like Pine Creek, small-town businesses like your father’s logging company, they got hit the hardest. And…” She hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands. “Your father’s cancer treatment was very expensive. In the end, this house was pretty much all he had left.”

Mike felt a flicker of grim satisfaction at that. Graham Anderson, who had once lorded his wealth and power over everyone, the richest man in Pine Creek, had died half-broke, his empire reduced to ashes. Meanwhile, Mike had built a career for himself from the ground up, clawing his way out of the shadow his father had cast. It felt like a kind of poetic justice.

“He deserved worse,” Mike muttered, unable to stop the bitterness from slipping into his voice.

Kate didn’t respond, but her lips tightened, and she looked away.

Mike took a seat on the couch, keeping a careful distance from her. The tension in the room was thick, but the late hour and the weight of the day seemed to loosen his tongue.

“I had a crush on you, you know,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His voice was low, almost hesitant, as if admitting it out loud could break something fragile.

Kate froze for a moment, her eyes widening slightly before she looked down at her lap. She didn’t speak, and the silence felt like a lead weight pressing down on Mike’s chest.

Had she known? Did his father know? The thought sent a chill down his spine.

“I’m sorry,” Kate said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. She took a deep breath, then added, “For everything.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

Mike looked at her, searching her face for answers to questions he wasn’t sure how to ask. But then she leaned closer, her eyes locking onto his.

“I can’t change the past,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “But… let me try to make it up to you. Just a little. Tonight.”

Mike’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t have heard that right. Could he?

She reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek, and he felt his pulse quicken. Kate’s touch was soft, her gaze steady, and in that moment, she was no longer his father’s wife, no longer the mother of his half-siblings, no longer his stepmother. She was just Kate. His first love.

The girl he could never stop wanting.

“You don’t have a girlfriend in the city, do you?” she asked, her voice barely audible, like the question itself was forbidden.

“No,” Mike admitted, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been too busy. Work, building my career… no time for dating.”

“Then you shouldn’t feel guilty,” Kate murmured, her hand sliding from his cheek to his jaw, her thumb tracing the edge of his stubble.

Guilt. The word felt meaningless as he looked at her, his mind torn between desire and the weight of the taboo they were both dancing around.

She was his father’s wife. She was the mother of his siblings. She was his stepmother.

But she was also the girl he’d once dreamed about, the woman who had only grown more beautiful over the years. Her full curves, her soft red hair, the way she moved, it all made his chest ache with a longing he couldn’t ignore.

And then there was the other side of it. The darker side.

The scars Graham had left on his body, the ones Mike still felt whenever he thought of his father’s belt. The humiliation of being bent over, his pants and underwear pulled down, the ache in his buttocks that lingered for days after his father mercilessly whipped his bare buttocks with the belt. The rage that had burned inside him, powerless and suffocating.

What better way to get back at the man who had made his childhood hell than to claim his woman, less than twenty-four hours after he had been put in his grave?

“All right,” Mike said finally, his voice steady. “I won’t feel guilty.”

Kate smiled softly, her hand slipping from his jaw to take his hand. Without a word, she led him up the stairs, the creak of the old wood under their feet the only sound in the house.

She opened the door to the master bedroom, and Mike’s breath hitched. The bed. His father’s bed.

His father’s woman.

Kate turned to him, her eyes shimmering with something he couldn’t name. She stepped closer, and in that moment, Mike made his choice.

Graham Anderson was gone. Dead and buried.

And tonight, Mike would claim the most precious thing his father had left behind.

Mike’s breath quickened as Kate stood before him, her red hair cascading over her shoulders. With a slow, deliberate motion, she let her dress slip from her body, pooling at her feet. She stood there in her black lace lingerie, her gaze steady but filled with an unspoken tension.

She was breathtaking. Perfect. More beautiful than he’d ever dared to dream.

His eyes roamed over her curves, her pale breasts, the delicate fabric clinging to her skin like a second layer. She was a vision of desire, his first love, now standing before him in a way he’d only imagined in the privacy of his most forbidden thoughts.

But as much as Mike wanted her, the familiar sting of jealousy began to rise in his chest. For twelve long years, his father had this sight all to himself. For twelve long years, his father got to fuck her every night, as much as he wanted.

Four thousand three hundred and eighty nights.

The thought burned in Mike’s mind like poison. His hated father, the man who had left scars on his body and soul, had claimed Kate as his own. And not just claimed her, his sperm had fertilized her womb, and she had given birth to four of his children.

Mike’s jaw clenched as his eyes drifted over the lace. It was elegant, tasteful, and expensive, exactly the kind of thing his father would have chosen to mark her as his.

“Did he buy those for you?” Mike asked, his voice low but laced with venom.

Kate hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice tinged with guilt. “They were a gift from your father.”

The words hit him like a slap, jealousy and anger coursing through him in equal measure. Graham had been dead for less than a day, but his presence lingered in every corner of this house, in every thread of the life he had built with Kate.

Mike’s fists tightened at his sides, his knuckles turning white. But then, as quickly as the rage had come, it ebbed away, replaced by something else, something darker, more resolute.

Graham Anderson was dead. Rotting in the dirt. Whatever hold he had on Kate, on this house, on Mike, was over. Tonight, Mike would take what had once belonged to his father.

No. Not “what.” Who.

This wasn’t about **** anymore. This was about him and Kate, about the relationship they had been denied.

He stepped closer, the heat of his body mingling with hers. Kate’s eyes searched his face, her expression a mixture of uncertainty and longing.

Screw Graham. Tonight was about them.

Mike reached out, cupping her face in his hands. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss was hesitant at first, testing, but as soon as her arms wrapped around his neck, it deepened into something fierce and consuming.

Her lips were soft and warm, and the taste of her was intoxicating. For a moment, all the pain, all the anger, all the years of separation melted away, leaving only the two of them.

Kate pulled him closer, her body pressing against his as she surrendered to the kiss. Mike’s hands moved instinctively, tracing the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. She was his tonight, and he would make every second count.

As she guided him back to the bed, his father's bed, Mike felt a dark satisfaction settle over him. Short of pissing on his father’s grave, this was the ultimate act of disrespect.

And as Kate lay beneath him, her red hair splayed out like a halo against the pillow, Mike allowed himself to drown in her, in the moment, in the intoxicating mix of desire and vengeance that coursed through his veins.

"Ah!" Kate moaned as Mike entered her, his cock disappearing inside her tight pussy, inch by inch, filling the hole left behind by his father.

For the first time in years, Mike felt truly free.

"Let's stay like this for a while," he whispered, his full length buried inside her. He wanted Kate's pussy to memorize the shape of his cock and forget his father's. His manhood was a perfect fit, filling her hole snugly, like a lost piece of a puzzle, like they were always meant to be connected.

"Ah!" Kate closed her eyes and moaned wordlessly in response, savoring the shape of Mike's cock, as it started to move inside her.

Thrusting with the longing and desire of twelve long years.

"Ah!" It wasn't long before Mike came inside her. His young, virile sperm, hot and thick, rushed into her womb, filling her fully, eager to fertilize her eggs.

And it was only the beginning.

Mike and Kate didn’t sleep.

Their desire was relentless, consuming them like a fire that had smoldered for twelve long years before finally igniting. They had gone overboard, each touch, kiss, and thrust driven by the hunger of lost time and suppressed longing.

By dawn, they lay tangled together in the bed, their nude bodies spent, the room heavy with the scent of passion and exhaustion. Kate’s red hair was wild against the pillow, her cheeks flushed, her chest rising and falling with every labored breath.

Mike had never felt anything like this, a mix of elation, satisfaction, and something deeper, darker.

He stared at the ceiling, his arm draped over her waist, when Kate finally broke the silence.

“My mom had cancer,” she began, her voice a soft sigh.

Mike turned to look at her, his post-coital haze clearing instantly.

“What?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

Kate shifted slightly, propping herself up on her elbow. Her eyes were somber, her face etched with years of buried pain. “I never told you why I married your father. It doesn’t make sense to keep it from you now.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “The treatment was expensive. Too expensive. We were drowning in debt. Your dad… he was the richest man in town.”

Mike’s stomach twisted. He already knew where this was going, but hearing the words from her lips made it worse.

“He offered to pay for her treatment,” Kate continued, her voice trembling, “on one condition. That I slept with him. Married him. Had his children.”

Mike bolted upright, his fists clenching as white-hot rage surged through him. “That fucking bastard!” he spat, his voice shaking with fury.

Kate flinched slightly but didn’t look away. “I didn’t have a choice,” she said softly. “He kept his word. He paid for everything, and my mom got the best care money could buy. But it didn’t matter in the end. She died a few years later. Cancer… it doesn’t let go.”

Mike’s breath hitched. He looked at Kate, at the pain in her expression, and felt a wave of guilt for his anger. She had been eighteen, just a girl, trapped in a nightmare, **** to marry an abusive man thirty years her senior.

“I was already pregnant with his third child by then,” Kate continued. “I couldn’t leave. I couldn't leave the kids with him.”

Mike’s jaw tightened, and he struggled to speak. “Did… did he know how I felt about you?”

Kate hesitated, then nodded. “About your crush? Yes. He knew. He taunted me about it. In bed. After fucking me, coming inside me. Said it was funny that I was his now, not yours.” Her voice broke, and tears welled in her eyes. “I hated him! Every second of it, I hated him. But I couldn’t let my mom die, Mike.”

The room felt suffocating. Mike stared at the floor, his mind racing. He imagined the life Kate must have led, trapped, powerless, **** to endure his father's lust for the sake of her family.

And then, a darker thought crept into his mind, one so chilling it made his skin crawl.

The insurance payout.

When his mother had taken her life, the insurance company had paid a hefty premium. That money had been Graham’s to use. What if…

Mike’s heart pounded as the pieces clicked into place.

“What if…” he began, his voice shaking. “What if he drove her to it? What if he pushed her to kill herself so he could cash in? So he could…” His voice broke, and he couldn’t finish the sentence. What if that was the money he had used to make Kate his?

Kate’s eyes widened, and she sat up, placing a hand on his arm. “Mike…”

“What if it wasn’t a suicide?” Mike’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists. He could feel the old scars on his body throbbing, his father’s ghost looming over him even now.

Kate didn’t say anything, but her silence spoke volumes.

Finally, Mike took a deep breath and asked the one question he needed the answer to. “Did he suffer?”

“Yes,” Kate said softly. “He had one of the most painful types of cancer. His last year was absolute hell, the worst agony I’ve ever seen.”

“Good,” Mike muttered, his voice cold. He felt a grim satisfaction settle over him, like a weight lifting off his chest. For the first time in years, he felt something like peace.

He turned to Kate, his expression softening. “Let’s try to forget him. Let’s build a new life together.”

Kate nodded, her tears falling freely now. “Yes.”

She leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper. “And, Mike? I want to make a child with you.”

Mike’s heart swelled, and he reached for her, pulling her close. “We will,” he promised, his voice steady. “We’ll do it as many times as it takes.”

The small town of Pine Creek was quiet as the morning light filtered through the trees. Winter had melted into spring, and the world seemed to hum with life once more.

Mike stood on the porch of the old Anderson house, coffee cup in hand, watching the sunrise paint the sky in shades of gold and lavender. For the first time in years, he felt something he hadn’t dared hope for: peace.

Behind him, laughter echoed from the kitchen. Kate was helping the kids, his half-siblings, with breakfast. They were a strange, patchwork family now, but they were his family. He’d made the decision to stay in Pine Creek, at least for a while, to help Kate rebuild her life. To rebuild _their _life.

He hadn’t thought it was possible, but with every passing day, the weight of the past lifted a little more. The scars Graham had left on all of them were still there, but they didn’t define him anymore.

Mike sipped his coffee and smiled as the screen door creaked open. Kate stepped out, her red hair catching the morning light. She was radiant, her smile warm and genuine, a far cry from the woman he’d first reunited with at the funeral. Her hand rested lightly on the small swell of her stomach, a gentle reminder of the life growing inside her.

“How’s breakfast coming?” he asked, setting his mug on the railing.

“Chaos,” she replied with a laugh. “But I think we’ll survive.”

He reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. It was such a simple gesture, but it grounded him, reminded him of how far they’d come.

Kate glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling. “You seem happy.”

“I am,” Mike said, his voice steady. “For the first time in a long time, I really am.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. They stood there for a moment, the quiet stretching between them like a warm blanket.

“You know,” Kate began, her voice soft, “we’re going to have to tell the kids eventually. About us. About the baby.”

“I know,” Mike said. “When the time is right. For now, let’s just… enjoy this.”

Kate nodded, and together they turned back toward the house. As they walked inside, the chaos of breakfast greeted them, plates clattering, the kids arguing over who got the last piece of bacon.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.

And as Mike sat down at the table, Kate beside him, the sun streaming through the windows, he felt something he thought he’d lost forever.

Hope.

Their past was messy, their scars deep, but the future was wide open. Together, they would face it, one day at a time.

The baby would be a new beginning, a symbol of everything they’d endured and everything they’d fought for.

And for the first time in twelve long years, Mike was ready to move forward.

Toward something better. Toward something new.