They didn’t Joe came inside her

Terri’s fingers dug deeper into the quilt, the fabric wrinkling under her grip like crushed paper. A drop of water slid from Wendy’s hair, tracing a slow path down her collarbone before vanishing beneath the towel. The silence between them was thick, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator downstairs.

Wendy’s throat tightened as her mother’s eyes darkened—not with anger, but something worse. Disappointment. The kind that settled heavy in the pit of her stomach.

Terri’s exhale was slow, deliberate, the kind that carried the weight of unspoken words. She lifted a hand—not to strike, not to comfort, but to press trembling fingertips to her temple. The pearl at her throat caught the light as she swallowed hard.

Wendy shifted, the towel slipping just enough that another droplet fell, this time onto the hardwood between her bare feet. She could smell her own shampoo, the lingering musk of Joe’s cologne still on her skin. The truth sat like a stone on her tongue.

"You promised," Terri finally said, the words frayed at the edges. A moth thumped against the window screen behind her, **** for the light.

"I guess it’s my fault," Terri murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung between them, sharp and fragile, like the first crack in ice. Her fingers uncurled from the quilt, leaving behind deep creases in the fabric. "I should’ve made an appointment at the doctor’s for you—should’ve gotten you on birth control."

Wendy’s breath hitched. The towel slipped another inch, the damp edge brushing her thigh. She could still feel the ghost of Joe’s hands on her hips, the way his breath had shuddered against her neck. The memory twisted inside her, hot and shameful.

Terri’s hand fell to her side, her palm brushing against the quilt with a whisper of fabric. "I don’t blame you," she said, her voice softening just enough to make Wendy’s chest ache. "I see the way you two look at each other. I knew it would only be a matter of time."

Wendy’s fingers tightened around the towel, the damp terrycloth rough against her skin. She could feel the weight of her mother’s gaze—not accusing, just knowing.

Terri’s hand hovered for a moment before settling on Wendy’s bare shoulder, her fingers cool against the damp skin. Another droplet slid from Wendy’s hair, this time landing on her mother’s wrist like a tear.

“Then we wait,” Terri said quietly, her thumb brushing the hollow of Wendy’s collarbone. “If your period does come—” Her voice caught, just slightly. “—you’ll go on the pill. No arguments.”

Wendy nodded, the motion sending another rivulet of water down her temple. She could hear the muffled tick of the hallway clock, each second measured and slow.

Wendy’s breath hitched as her mother’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on her shoulder—not quite a grip, but enough to make the damp towel shift again, exposing the faint crescent-moon bruise just above her elbow where Joe had held her too hard. The refrigerator’s hum downstairs stuttered off, leaving the house in a silence so thick Wendy could hear the rustle of Terri’s blouse as she inhaled.

"I won’t tell your daddy about this yet."

The words landed like a weight between them, deliberate, each syllable slow as syrup dripping from a spoon.

Wendy flinched as the towel hit the floor with a wet slap. The air raised goosebumps along her bare arms, but the chill in her mother’s voice cut deeper.

"You’re grounded for breaking curfew last night." Terri’s words were measured, each syllable clipped like the sharp click of a lock turning. Her pearl necklace glinted as she tilted her chin toward the hallway. "Go put on clothes. Now."

Wendy’s toes curled against the hardwood, the grain rough under her damp soles. She could feel the weight of her mother’s stare tracing the outline of Joe’s teeth marks just below her shoulder—the ones she hadn’t noticed until now.

"But, Mama—" Wendy’s voice cracked, her fingers twitching at her sides as the damp air raised goosebumps along her arms.

"No buts." Terri’s hand sliced through the air, the motion sharp enough to send a stray pearl clacking against its neighbors. "You’re grounded." The words left no room for argument, settling like a door slamming shut.

Wendy’s throat worked around a swallow, the taste of soap and Joe’s cologne still clinging to the back of her tongue. She took a step back, her heel brushing the crumpled towel on the floor.