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Trial Separation // Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2022-07-21 00:00:03 +0000 UTCHere's a short I've had on my hard drive for a long while, totally finished but unedited. I forgot how much I liked it. I think I liked it so much I contemplated doing more with these characters, but in the end, I have too much unfinished for that.
This isn't a very long book (about seven chapters?), but I hope you enjoy it!
***
In eleven months she would be forty. 337 days from now Bethany Anne Franklin would be crossing yet another major milestone.
Crossing thirty had been bad enough. But at thirty she’d been a happy stay-at-home mom with two kids who’d needed her. Husband struggling to make VP, working sixty-plus hour weeks while she maintained their household. Ten years later, she’d be crossing this new milestone all by herself. Alone. And that was at once the most terrifying thing she could ever imagine yet simultaneously there was a facet of it insanely thrilling. She hadn’t been alone in over twenty years. Married and pregnant at nineteen, she’d gone from her parent’s house to her husband’s house, nothing in between. No time for Bethany to learn who Bethany could be.
But she wasn’t unhappy with who Bethany had been until three months ago. Homemaker, mom, part-time student, sometimes-PTA secretary, bake sale champion, church elder . . . She’d done so much in her life the right and noble way.
Being with someone—a man—wasn’t the be-all and end-all. She used to think it was. But that balloon had been popped. All you had in your life was yourself.
And what did she have left at almost forty?
She stood now before the same mirror she checked herself out in every day since they’d moved into this five-bedroom house nine years ago. Back when Robert finally made partner at the firm. The reflection that normally faced her in the mirror looked nothing like the one regarding her now. A totally different woman stared back from that standing mirror set in its oaken frame. She was in the master bedroom (now the solo bedroom, her bedroom), top floor, front of house, outside the walk-in closet. The reflection in the mirror showed her stock. Sure, she was thirty-nine, but the woman in the mirror wasn’t terribly different than the woman she’d always been. She wasn’t twenty anymore, but she didn’t expect that kind of youthfulness. She’d had two kids. They were grown up. And yet . . .
She was tall. Not inordinately, but not what you would describe as short. Only five-seven, but she was thin, and that made five-seven look a little taller. Still only 110-pounds. She ran 5K most every other morning, watched what she ate, and she did yoga once a week at the Ashambra Center where they always had the heat turned high. Wavy chestnut hair that still shone and kept deep color with no added chemicals. No bangs, part at the side, waves framing her face. Would she describe herself as pretty? . . . Probably not, but that was just her meager confidence. Others would describe her as pretty, and she would demur. Bright green-gray eyes—she worried they were just mostly gray—a thin nose, a little long, but straight with a narrow tip. Heart shaped lips that still held a soft note. Smile lines. But those weren’t that new. Those showed up around thirty-two. She was used to them by now (even though there hadn’t been much smiling in the last year). The figure was all right. Long legs, long arms, and a perky butt. It’d never been flat, and in the last few months she’d added squats to her training regimen.
All in all, actually a fairly nice package. The insides might be a little shook up, but the shell looked quite appealing.
For tonight’s date, she’d bought a dress in something called “vizi” red. Only it wasn’t so much red as really a hot bubblegum pink. It looked a lot different at home than it had in the dressing room at the boutique. So, that was not the dress she would be wearing, because though it did look nice on her, she didn’t think she had the guts to pull it off. Instead she wore a satiny dress in a dazzling gemstone blue, with a scalloped top, a skirt ending a fist’s breadth above her knee. Stockings. Stockings!—holy hell—the kind held up with a garter belt. Overtop the garter belt, a pair of satin panties with a thong back. Push-up bra, too, holding her ample girls aloft. Presenting them. Presenting them in a way she never had in almost her entire life. The last time she’d showed cleavage was at her friend Carla’s wedding, where she’d worn that teal bridesmaid dress that wasn’t her own choice at all. And boy, had she been self-conscious that day. Robert had made fun of her—but told her she was stunning anyway. Things had been better them. Pumps tonight, expensive ones. Put them on Robert’s credit card. Fancy Louboutins with the red soles; black pumps with midnight blue trim and bejeweled toes. Jewelry was sedate. Thin Gucci watch, a small string of pearls, gold clamshell earrings. Gold bracelet on the non-watch wrist, and, for whatever reason: she still wore her wedding ring and engagement diamond. She was dating, but she was still married.
It was 6:15, and now her stomach turned over. Raul would be here in fifteen minutes.
Rest of chapter removed so book can go on Kindle Unlimited.
Comments
KT Morrison
I believe this will be a popular story, ha ha.
Tracey52
So does the title suggest that hubby will want her back when he finds out the minx she becomes? One can only hope
KT Morrison
This is a fun one. I thought I'd lost it, too. Spent a couple hours trying to track down where the file went. I had a recent office upheaval and a new computer, and detachable hard drives. So glad I found it. I wrote it during the first lockdown. Pretty fucking #metoo, ha ha.
KT Morrison
Absolutely—and thank you for enjoying them!
Tracey52
This your entry to #metoo kt? Good start if it is. Good for her.
Wess
If you write more, might we get a pic? I've grown attached to your renderings. I keep revisiting Keely.
