My kids wanted me to sleep with them again, and Daryl forced my hand by telling them I would. I was pretty sure it was a blatant attempt to get on their good side, and it worked, but I really missed sleeping next to him.

Raph had skipped dinner and was most of the way through a bottle of wine by the time the kids and I got to the house. They fell asleep quickly again, and I went downstairs to see if he was okay. He was sitting in the dark living room and had opened another bottle. He was usually a happy drunk, and I figured if there were ever a time to drink it was probably when you'd just had an awkward conversation with the guy who'd been fucking your wife.

I got myself a glass and poured a little wine, sipping slowly as I sat on the chair across from him. "Thanks for not making it any harder than it has to be," I said sincerely, but he snorted. "Has to be? Are you implying that this isn't a choice you're making?"

"Some parts of it are a choice, and some are because of things I didn't choose," I said evenly. He shook his head wearily and leaned back in his chair. "It's just fucked up. He makes no sense for you. You're the smartest, most articulate person I know, and you're hooking up with this guy who barely strings two words together? What the fuck is that?"

I stood up, refusing to engage with him in a conversation about Daryl. "You don't know anything about him and I'm not discussing him with you. If you need to talk about the kids, or about us, I'm here but otherwise, I'm going to bed."

He got to his feet unsteadily and shook his head. "Fine. I won't insult him, but I'm not going to pretend to 'get it' either -" he stopped short and peered at my shoulder, where the loose t-shirt I'd put on for bed had slipped to the side. "What the fuck happened there? Were you bitten!?"

I tugged my shirt over the mark and shook my head, "not that kind of bite, don't worry," I said, stepping around him toward the stairs, but he blocked my way and yanked my shirt over so he could look more closely. "Jesus, he really is a caveman," he breathed, looking at me in disgust.

"You let him do that to you? What the fuck is wrong with you?" He caught a glimpse of the tattoo and pulled the shirt backward to look. "What the fuck is this?" I could feel the familiar bubble of panic welling up in my stomach, and the iron clamp around my lungs, and I realized I was alone with him and he was blocking my exit.

I stumbled back and wrapped my arms around my torso. "P-please let me leave," I stuttered, and he looked at me, startled, but stepped immediately to the side so I could get to the stairs. The panic lifted slightly and I bolted but stopped halfway up when he said softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"I know," I said, not turning around. "It wasn't you, not really. Just stuff from before that triggers me sometimes." I left him in the dark and went to snuggle the kids and doze restlessly until morning.