Chapter 14 - Routine

Over the next few weeks Jennifer settled into a rhythm she hadn’t expected.

Not normal.

Not exactly.

But something close enough that her body had started believing it.

Every morning now began the same way.

The bedroom lights flipping on.

Michelle’s voice cutting softly through sleep.

“Let’s go, princess. Time to get ready.”

Jennifer groaned dramatically every single time, though by the second week she was already sitting up before Michelle even reached the bed.

Then shower cap.

Close shave.

Tucking.

Shapewear.

Padded girdle.

Bra.

Tights.

Skirts or dresses.

Then makeup.

Jewelry.

Perfume.

At first Michelle still helped heavily:

fixing eyeliner,

blending foundation,

adjusting lipstick.

But every night Kathy now had Jennifer practice removing and redoing everything herself at the vanity.

“No shortcuts,” Kathy told her.

“You’re almost there.”

Jennifer smiled proudly at the mirror.

By the end of the second week…

she almost was.

The other strange part was:

she was sleeping during the night.

Actually sleeping.

Deeply.

Peacefully.

No tossing.

No panic.

No lying awake staring at ceilings while her thoughts spiraled.

Whatever Kathy had given her worked better than anything Jennifer had ever tried before.

So every night now, without fail, she took one of the little pills Kathy left in the bathroom drawer.

Religiously.

And every Tuesday, Kathy stopped by after work with another “stress support patch,” pressing it gently against Jennifer’s lower back just above the waistband of her leggings.

On the forth week she asked “how’ve you been feeling this week?”

Jennifer shrugged slightly.

“Honestly… calmer.”

Kathy smiled knowingly.

“And emotionally?”

Jennifer hesitated.

“More emotional maybe.”

Kathy nodded like that was expected.

“That happens sometimes when stress hormones finally settle down.”

Jennifer accepted that explanation immediately.

Jennifer believed her completely.

Why wouldn’t she?

They did make Jennifer feel better.

Calmer.

Less trapped inside her own head.

So she thanked her every time.

—-

Saturday salon visits became their own strange little ritual.

Hair touch-ups.

Brows.

Lashes.

Nails.

Laser hair removal.

After a few weeks the laser appointments had become strangely routine by now.

Uncomfortable.

Personal.

Humiliating, technically.

And yet somehow no longer shocking.

Jennifer laid on the table beneath the bright treatment lights in one of Kathy’s private salon rooms wearing a soft white robe while Kathy adjusted settings on the machine beside her.

“Okay,” Kathy said casually. “Important question.”

Jennifer looked up nervously.

“What?”

Kathy glanced over.

“How do you want your bikini area shaped?”

Jennifer blinked.

“What do you mean?”

Kathy said it the same way someone might ask about eyebrow shaping.

“Well, some women like a little landing strip.”

She adjusted her gloves.

“Or you can go fully clean. Brazilian style. That’s what Michelle does.”

Jennifer froze instantly.

Michelle.

For some reason that detail hit harder than it should have.

Jennifer stared upward at the ceiling tiles while Kathy prepared the machine.

And suddenly Jennifer realized something deeply unsettling:

she honestly couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Michelle naked.

Not clearly.

Not intimately.

Not really.

Not for a long time.

A year maybe.

Longer.

Their marriage had slowly become schedules.

Stress.

Distance.

Bills.

Depression.

Michael losing work had changed everything.

At first it was temporary.

Then it just… became life.

Separate sides of the bed.

Excuses.

Exhaustion.

Silence.

Jennifer swallowed hard.

Because now that she thought about it…

she couldn’t remember the last time Michelle had touched Michael with actual desire either.

Or the last time Michael had even wanted to try.

That realization spiraled somewhere deeper unexpectedly.

Jennifer stared numbly at the ceiling while another thought surfaced quietly behind it:

since becoming Jennifer…

Except for showering she had never untucked.

Not once.

Not even accidentally.

And for the life of her, Jennifer couldn’t remember the last time her male anatomy had even physically responded at all.

Weeks now.

Maybe longer.

The realization felt alien.

Wrong.

Like some part of Michael had quietly gone dormant without permission while Jennifer was too distracted adapting to notice.

Before Jennifer fully realized what was happening, tears suddenly slipped sideways into her hairline.

Kathy immediately stopped.

“Oh sweetheart.”

Jennifer covered her face instantly, mortified.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

Kathy moved beside the table gently.

“Yes you do.”

Jennifer shook her head while trying unsuccessfully to stop.

“No, I—”

“You’ve been carrying this alone for a long time.”

That broke something open completely.

Not sobbing.

Not dramatic.

Just quiet emotional crying Jennifer couldn’t seem to stop.

Kathy simply held her hand while the tears came.

No judgment.

No pushing.

Just soft understanding.

And somewhere underneath the embarrassment, Jennifer realized something else too:

Michael honestly couldn’t remember the last time he cried.

Kathy gently rubbed Jennifer’s hand with her thumb while Jennifer tried unsuccessfully to steady her breathing.

“It’s okay,” Kathy said softly.

Jennifer laughed weakly through the tears.

Kathy chose her words carefully.

“You’ve been under an enormous amount of stress for a long time.”

Jennifer nodded quietly.

“And honestly,” Kathy continued gently, “sometimes once your body finally starts calming down a little emotionally… everything you were suppressing just comes out.”

Jennifer wiped carefully beneath her eyes.

“That’s normal?”

“Oh sweetheart,” Kathy said warmly. “Very normal.”

Jennifer relaxed slightly at that.

Meanwhile Kathy quietly avoided mentioning that lowering testosterone and introducing estrogen often increased emotional openness and emotional processing dramatically.

Not because Kathy was trying to deceive Jennifer maliciously.

But because Kathy genuinely believed Jennifer was becoming healthier.

—

At the office, a new project David had taken on consumed the executive floor almost immediately.

Near the end of Jennifer’s fourth day, David called her into his office.

He looked exhausted.

Jacket off.

Sleeves rolled.

The two coffees she’d brought him earlier still sat on his desk.

Jennifer immediately worried she had done something wrong.

David noticed instantly.

“Are you ok?”

Jennifer laughed nervously.

“I hope so.”

He smiled.

“Relax. You’re doing great.”

Jennifer physically relaxed.

Then David leaned back in his chair.

“We’ve got a pretty major opportunity developing right now.”

He explained:

tight timelines,

high stakes,

executive pressure.

“It could be a huge win for the company if we pull it off.”

Jennifer listened carefully, taking notes.

David continued:

“I don’t need you staying late at night.”

Jennifer nodded quickly.

“But I would appreciate it if you kept your phone nearby evenings and weekends in case I need something handled remotely.”

“Of course,” Jennifer answered immediately.

David smiled gratefully.

“Michelle and I are probably going to live here for the next few weeks trying to get this across the finish line.”

“Well, let me know what I can do. Anything to help,” she responded.

A few minutes later back at her desk, Michelle hurried past and disappeared into David’s office with a quick wave before closing the door behind her. Two minutes later Jennifer’s phone buzzed.

Michelle: sorry for short notice, but staying late on this project. You’ll have to take the commuter bus home tonight Jenn.

Jennifer stared at the message.

Her stomach dropped instantly.

—

By the time she left the building, Manhattan was deep into rush hour.

The sidewalks were packed shoulder-to-shoulder with commuters moving far faster than Jennifer felt capable of walking in heels.

She kept her head down as she hurried the few blocks toward Port Authority, hyperaware of everything:

* the sharp click of her heels against the sidewalk,

* the sway of her skirt,

* the feeling of her purse against her shoulder,

* the way people brushed past her without looking twice.

Every reflection in every darkened storefront window pulled her eyes automatically.

Was her makeup okay?

Did her hair still look right?

Did she look nervous?

Probably.

By the time she finally reached Port Authority, her pulse was already racing.

Jennifer found the correct gate surprisingly quickly and nearly sighed with relief when she boarded the bus and spotted an empty window seat halfway back.

Okay.

She could do this.

She slid into the seat carefully, crossing her legs tightly at the ankles and placing her purse neatly in her lap.

The familiar smell of the bus, the low hum of conversations, and the constant stream of commuters boarding slowly started calming her nerves.

Until the bus kept filling.

More people.

Fewer empty seats, people just kept getting on.

Then a tall, heavy set man boarded carrying a messenger bag and scanning for an open seat.

Jennifer froze instantly.

Tom Mitchell.

One of the fathers Michael used to coach little league with when Ethan was younger.

Her stomach dropped.

Tom didn’t hesitate before sliding into the empty seat beside her.

“Packed tonight,” he muttered casually.

Jennifer **** herself to smile politely.

“Yeah.”

That was all.

No recognition.

No suspicion.

Nothing.

Tom settled comfortably into the seat, his knees slowly spreading into part of her space while Jennifer instinctively folded herself smaller against the window.

And the entire ride home, Jennifer sat painfully aware of:

* her perfume,

* the sound of her own softer voice,

* the feel of her tights against her legs,

* and the terrifying realization that someone who had known Michael for years was sitting inches away from her…

…and saw absolutely no trace of him.

Not rationally.

But completely.

Jennifer kept her knees tightly together the entire ride to Jersey.

She kept checking her reflection in the darkened window, and remembered to text Kathy asking if she could pick her up at the Park-n-Ride.

The whole ride she worried someone would notice something:

her makeup,

her posture,

her nails.

Every time he shifted, Jennifer flinched internally.

Every laugh from another passenger felt directed at her.

By the time the bus finally reached her stop, her hands were trembling. Tom got up to get off at the same stop, and Jennifer followed behind.

Tom noticed her behind him and said “Have a good night little lady.”

“You too.”

Jennifer immediately spotted Kathy waiting in her car and hurried over, climbing inside with visible relief. She did not notice that Tom saw her get into a car with Michael’s mother in law.

As Kathy pulled away, Jennifer explained why she’d taken the bus, and Kathy immediately offered to start picking her up every evening since it looked like Michelle would be working late for a while.

—

At home, though…

Things felt safe again.

Warm.

Predictable.

Especially with Sophie.

That relationship changed faster than Jennifer expected, and with Michelle working late almost every evening and weekends they were spending tons of time together.

Now Sophie just talked.

About school.

Cheer drama.

Teachers she hated.

Boys she pretended not to like.

Sophie also ripped open the envelope that arrived from DMV to Jennifer Russo so she could see Aunt Jenn’s permanent license.

“Don’t worry, the picture came out cute Aunt Jenn.”

Jennifer grabbed it out of her hands, she looked at it for a minute, now realizing the only photo identification she had was for a female named Jennifer Russo.

One night while doing skincare masks together, Sophie rambled for twenty straight minutes about another girl on the team before suddenly stopping.

“What?”

Jennifer smiled.

“Nothing.”

“You’re looking at me weird.”

Jennifer hesitated.

Then admitted softly:

“You talk to me more now.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Sophie’s expression softened instantly.

“Well… now you actually listen.”

That hit Jennifer so hard emotionally she had to look away.

Because it hurt.

And healed something at the same time.

—

Jennifer began spending more time around the other executive assistants too.

Jennifer slowly realized the lunch conversations revolved around an entirely different cultural universe than the one Michael used to inhabit.

Nobody discussed:

* baseball playoffs,

* fantasy football,

* playoff races,

* or sports radio drama.

Instead lunch somehow revolved around:

* Real Housewives fights,

* costumes in the latest episode of The Gilded Age,

* which women on Love Is Blind were secretly insane,

* and whether anyone would survive the newest season of The White Lotus.

The first few days Jennifer mostly sat quietly trying to follow along.

By the second week, she found herself watching episodes at night beside Sophie just so she could understand what everyone was talking about the next day.

“This woman is completely unhinged,” Jennifer muttered one evening while watching Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

Sophie looked over from her phone.

“Oh my God, finally. You get it now.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes.

“These women are terrible people.”

“Yeah,” Sophie replied casually. “That’s the point.”

Somewhere along the way, Jennifer stopped watching ironically.

Which was unsettling enough on its own.

But what disturbed her more was realizing one Friday afternoon at lunch that she hadn’t checked a sports score in weeks. Michael used to structure entire weekends around games.

No hockey.

No football.

No ESPN highlights quietly playing in the background.

Nothing.

Now Jennifer structured hers around salon appointments, outfit planning, and spending “girl time” with Sophie.

Somewhere along the way, that stopped feeling strange, and made her feel content.

Though occasionally she still overheard things in the office that twisted painfully inside her.

Especially when Michelle casually mentioned Michael.

One afternoon Jennifer overheard Michelle laughing with two women near the break room.

“My husband’s back on the west coast helping his mom right now.”

“Oh no, long distance?”

Michelle shrugged lightly.

“We’ve been struggling for a while honestly.”

Sympathetic noises immediately followed.

Jennifer stood frozen around the corner listening to Michael being discussed like some separate absent man.

Not herself.

Not connected to her anymore.

A husband.

A problem.

A marriage.

Jennifer walked away before anyone saw her.

—

Michelle’s phone became another constant.

Jennifer noticed the smiles first.

Little smirks while reading messages.

Late-night typing.

Quick glances downward whenever she was home for dinner.

But Jennifer never asked.

She assumed:

work.

It had to be.

Especially with the project consuming Michelle and David both.

—