She is caught spying at the store

I freeze in the cereal aisle, my cart half-full of random items I grabbed as cover. The fluorescent lights feel suddenly brighter as a massive shadow falls over me.

“Hey, Mrs. Stevens… what are you doing here?”

I look up—way up—and there’s Dunk, all 6’6” and 375 pounds of him, looming like a mountain in a hoodie and jeans. His deep voice is low, surprised, maybe a little wary. Those dark eyes lock onto mine, and for a second I forget how to breathe.

I **** a bright smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Dunk! Oh, hi, sweetheart. Just… picking up a few things for the house. You know, last-minute stuff before New Year’s.”

He doesn’t smile back right away. He glances around, then steps closer, his presence making the wide aisle feel narrow.

“You’ve been here a while,” he says quietly. “I saw you earlier. Near the bakery, then the produce… now here.”

My cheeks heat up. Busted.

I lift my chin anyway. “Maybe I was keeping an eye on my daughter’s fiancé. Making sure he’s behaving himself.”

His thick brows pull together. “Mrs. Stevens—”

“Don’t ‘Mrs. Stevens’ me,” I cut in, voice hushed but sharp. “I’ve seen the texts, Dunk. The late-night calls. The ‘work meetings’ that run long. My daughter deserves better than lies.”

He exhales through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. For a big man, he suddenly looks… tired.

“It’s not what you think,” he says. “But it’s not nothing either.”

My heart thuds. “Then tell me what it is.”

He glances around again—no one close—then leans down a little, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve got a condition. Hypersexuality tied to a hormone imbalance. Doctors call it something long and technical, but basically… my drive is way higher than normal. Like, a lot higher. Your daughter—she’s amazing, and I love her—but she can’t keep up. Not even close. And I’ve been trying not to put that pressure on her.”

I blink, caught off guard. “You’re saying… you need more than she can give?”

He nods once, eyes steady on mine. “I’ve been handling it myself. Mostly. But sometimes… it’s not enough. And I’ve slipped. A couple times. With someone discreet. No feelings, just… release. I hate it. I don’t want to cheat on her. I don’t want to hurt her.”

The confession hangs between us. I should be furious. I should march straight to my daughter.

But he looks so genuinely ashamed, so **** not to lose her, that my anger falters.

“So you’re telling me this is… medical?”

“Yeah. I’ve got the records if you want to see them. Meds help a little, but not enough. I’m trying to manage it without betraying her.”

I bite my lip, mind racing. He’s huge, intense, sincere in a way that’s hard to fake. And I’ve always been too trusting—too quick to see the good in people.

“What do you want from me, Dunk?”

He hesitates, then meets my eyes fully.

“I need help. Someone I trust. Someone who cares about her as much as I do. Someone… discreet. Who won’t let me cross a real line with a stranger.”

My breath catches. “You’re asking me to—”

“Not all the way,” he says quickly. “Just… help take the edge off. Hands, mouth, whatever you’re comfortable with. Enough so I don’t slip again. So I can stay faithful to her in every way that matters.”

I should say no. I should walk away.

But I picture my daughter’s face—how happy she is with him, how she lights up when he walks into a room. And I think about how devastated she’d be if this blew up.

I’m too kind for my own good. Always have been.

I swallow hard, voice barely audible.

“…Okay. Just to keep you from cheating for real. And only until you figure out something better with your doctors.”

Relief floods his face. He reaches out, gently touching my arm—his hand engulfing half my forearm.

“Thank you, Mrs. Stevens. I swear you won’t regret this.”

I manage a shaky smile.

“You’d better hope not, Dunk. Because if you ever hurt her… medical condition or not… I’ll make you regret it.”

He nods solemnly.

We push our carts toward opposite ends of the store, but I already know this isn’t over.

It’s only just beginning.