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A week and a half later Jack and Troy Bolton tried to get ready for work and school. Jack had run out of clean shirts and Troy needed basketball shorts. Whilst the kitchen dishes were washed, the benches and stove top hadn't seen the love of a firm scrub in a while.

Jack was looking for something – anything – that they might be able to eat for lunches in the fridge when the phone rang. It was Troy who answered.

After a very short conversation with the person on the other end, Troy handed the phone to his father. 'It's for you,' he said. 'It's Mom.'

Jack froze, before he took the phone. Not wanting to paint his wife in a bad light, and knowing that none of this was her fault, Jack had glossed over the reason for her absence with his son. Reaching for the handset, he tightly smiled his thanks to his boy as he headed out of the room. 'Luce?' he asked, quickly correcting himself. 'Sorry, Lucille.'

'Hello Jack.'

'How are you?' he asked carefully.

She deemed not to respond, instead responding with a question of her own. 'Did you figure out how to work the washing machine?' Hearing her laugh, he wondered if perhaps they still had a chance. 'We managed,' he responded lightly. 'The iron is another matter though.'

Awkward silence reigned before Lucille spoke again. 'I want counselling.'

'Okay,' he promised readily. He could do that.

'Good,' she responded. 'How's Troy?'

'Good,' he said, responding in kind. 'His life is a whirlwind of basketball, singing and a girlfriend. He's missing you,' he added quickly.

'What did you tell him?'

'I said you needed time to yourself.'

'Right.'

Silence hung between them again before he took the initiative to speak this time. 'So you'll call with the counselling times?' he asked.

'I'll call,' she promised.

Farewells dispensed with, Lucille Bolton had one last thing to say. 'Oh and Jack?'

'Yes?'

'I expect that Troy be told about this before then.'


Later that day, cooking spaghetti bolognaise for the fifth time since the two of them had had to fend for themselves, Jack looked out to where Troy was dribbling and shooting baskets. Wiping his hands on a teatowel, he turned the sauce down to a simmer and headed outside.

Snagging the ball from Troy, he did a line up and sunk it. Retrieving the ball, he passed it from hand to hand as he stood still.

'Dad?' called the teenager, waving his arms in the air. 'Hello? Throw the ball.'

'Son,' he said officially. 'I have something I need to tell you.'

'Okay,' said Troy, shrugging his shoulders.

'How do you feel about a sibling?' he asked generally, throwing the ball.

'A kid brother or sister?' asked Troy, catching the ball. He bounced it twice before shooting. 'Sure, that would be cool I guess.' Catching the rebound, he jumped to shoot again laughing. 'It is just plain weird thinking about your parents having sex.'

'About that...' trailed off Jack. 'Your mother's not the one that is pregnant,'

Troy was confused, before he realised that this mean. Throwing the ball hard to his father, he had an equally hard question to match. 'Who the hell did you sleep with?' he asked.

'Ingrid Darbus,' he answered, bravely ready for whatever came his way. He bounced the ball as his son's jaw dropped.

'Darbus?' laughed Troy incredulously, shock clear. 'Coach Bolton slept with Ms Darbus? You've got to be joking.'

'Wish I was kid,' he replied, his tone tinged with sadness.

'Is that why Mom left?' asked the teenager furiously. 'Because you cheated on her?'

'It was only one night,' he protested, but refrained from justifying himself further. 'Yeah, that's why she left.'

'How could you do that to Mom?' asked Troy angrily, protective instincts kicking in as he snatched the ball from his father's grasp.

He couldn't offer any explanation. It was a mistake? Sure, the one night stand was a mistake, but he refused to call the baby that would be Troy's half-sister or half-brother in six months time a mistake.

Watching his son run furiously around the faux court, shooting – and missing – several baskets, Jack waited patiently. Troy was panting and sweating when he missed his final shot. The teen let the ball roll away as he faced his father. 'Is she coming back?'

'I don't know son,' said Jack honestly. 'I don't know. That decision will rest with her.'


The decision did rest with her and it only took Lucille Bolton five minutes into the counselling session four days later to know what that decision would be.

Listening to her husband declare that he was going to publicly acknowledge his paternity of Ingrid Darbus' child and support the woman he'd knocked up in a one night start every step of the way, she knew.

Unable to face the prospect of remaining married to a man that another woman would rely upon, she knew. Faced with the prospect of being a stepmother to the child that would spend weekends with their father, she knew.

With the words of her good friend Sarah Michaels, newly divorced herself, in her mind and recalling her encouragement to join her on the singles scene once again, she knew.

Looking at the handsome man she'd married right out of college twenty years ago, she wondered where she'd gone wrong. And then before she knew it, she interrupted the counsellor and asked for a divorce.

As both her soon-to-be ex-husband and the shocked counsellor looked at her, she was intrigued to discover in the face of divorce, she wasn't as heartbroken as she should have been.

When had she stopped wanting to be Jack Bolton's wife?

She suspected that the turning point had been when Troy had headed for high school. With Jack heading the sporting faculty at East High, her two boys had bonded like never before when their love of basketball had them out of the house for hours upon end, whilst she found happiness in her interior design business.

She'd ceased to be Jack Bolton's wife in any means other than as a token a long time ago.

Rising from her seat, she ignored the pleas of both to sit and talk about it. 'Divorce is a drastic step,' called the counsellor as she marched out the door. 'We should work through your issues first.'

She left the building and breathed in a breath of fresh air. She hadn't felt this free in a long time.


Next chapter: Kensi loved the arts, bowed to the arts, respected the arts. But if the woman who was her portal to the greater arts changed her mood once more today, she was going to quit. No questions asked.