Yes

The garage door rattled shut behind her as Emily killed the engine. Her heart hadn’t slowed once since pulling away from the library, and now, sitting in the hush of the dim, concrete enclosure, she finally sagged forward, resting her forehead against the wheel.

She never parked in the garage. That was Jason’s space — always had been. She usually used the driveway and came through the front door. But pulling into the garage today had been instinct — an animal urge to hide.

The skirt clung to her thighs. She could feel his cum still seeping slowly down, a sticky warmth trailing between her legs. The thin blazer barely held the torn blouse in place. No bra. No panties. No dignity.

She **** herself to move. Every step in the silence was muffled and shameful. She unlocked the door to the kitchen and slipped inside.

Tasha was at the dining table, rocking Chloe in her arms, scrolling absently on her phone. At the sound of the door, she looked up.

Emily froze.

Tasha didn’t say a word. But her eyes moved — quick, quiet, sharp.

They flicked to the blazer, the strange way it clutched her chest, to Emily’s collarbone, bare skin where there shouldn’t be. Then lower — to the wrinkled skirt, the faint dark line down one thigh. Her eyes lingered, but her face stayed calm.

Emily smiled too quickly. “Thanks for watching her.”

“Of course,” Tasha said softly. “She’s been good.”

Emily edged past her, heartbeat thudding behind her eyes. “I’m gonna grab a shower.”

Tasha nodded once. “You might want to… check your skirt.”

Emily stopped in the hallway. Her breath caught.

She didn’t answer. Just hurried out of view, Chloe’s soft baby noises and the rustle of Tasha’s rocking chair fading behind her.

No accusations. No questions.

But Emily knew.

Tasha saw everything. And she was choosing—for now—not to say a word.