Father Figure

Linda and her 18-year-old stepdaughter Sam sit together in the living room after the man of the house dies. They stare at empty spaces where he once lived. Broke. Then a knock hits the door. Jerry steps inside with his luggage and some meager promises about helping them through this mess. Weeks pass. Jerry fixes what he can, Sam watches him with hungry eyes. Late one night she lies in bed, sheets twisting around her legs like they want to tie her down. Jerry passes by the doorway, stops when he sees her. Knocks softly. He asks if he can come in. She says sure, but calls him stepdad instead. The word stops him cold. Sam covers her mouth, mortified. Jerry enters anyway, sits on her bed, and puts his rough hand over hers. They confess things they shouldn’t. Jerry wants to be father, husband, lover—all at once—everyone blurred together in grief. Sam tells him her real dad would want happiness, not guilt. One kiss turns greedy, mouths open, breathing ragged, years of loss crushing them into this single forbidden need. They taste each other like people who’ve been starving. Neither sure what Linda will do when she wakes.