The Wrong Woman
975 Words
Elijah Reeves had never had a problem with women.
That was the honest truth of it and he had never pretended otherwise. From the age of nineteen he had moved through relationships the way some men moved through cities. Comfortably. Without excessive attachment. Always making the terms clear upfront because he believed in honesty if nothing else.
No strings.
No morning conversations about the future.
No borrowing space in each other’s lives beyond what the night required.
The women always said they understood.
Some of them even meant it.
He had built a clean, uncomplicated life around that arrangement.
Then his father’s knee had started giving him trouble.
Grace Fellowship had not been his idea. It had been a concession. A son doing what sons do when their fathers get older and start asking for small things. He had sat in the back pew for three Sundays telling himself he would stop coming once his father stopped asking.
On the fourth Sunday he noticed her.
A woman in a deep burgundy dress had been arranging lilies on the altar, humming something low under her breath, completely unaware she was being watched.
He had stood there for four minutes.
Four minutes watching a woman who had no idea she was being watched and was therefore completely, devastatingly herself.
Moving between the flowers with a quiet grace her public composure never quite allowed. The dress modest. Still impossible not to notice.
The kind of presence that did not ask for attention and took it anyway.
He had come back the next Sunday.
And the next.
Not for his father.
For her.
He had never acted on it.
She was the pastor’s wife.
That had been enough.
Until tonight.
He drove home with both hands tight on the wheel, the road stretching ahead of him in a blur he barely registered.
He had kissed her.
He had stood in her kitchen with her husband’s house around them and kissed her.
And she had kissed him back.
Three seconds.
That was all it had taken.
Three seconds that had unsettled something in him he did not have a name for and did not know what to do with.
The regret arrived quietly.
Not because of what he felt.
Because she had a life.
A carefully constructed life that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with a church, a name, and a man who did not deserve her but still had claim to her regardless.
He did not want to be the thing that broke that open.
Even if it was already broken.
He pulled into his driveway and sat there for a moment, the engine still running.
Then he reached for his phone.
Jade picked up on the second ring.
She had been on his phone for two years.
Easy.
Available.
Uncomplicated.
The kind of arrangement that required nothing from him beyond showing up.
“Come over,” he said.
Fifteen minutes later, the door clicked open.
Jade walked in like she always did. Comfortable. Certain. She locked the door behind her, kicked off her slides, and crossed the room straight to him.
She climbed onto his lap without a word, her hands already moving, her body warm and responsive in a way he knew well.
There was no hesitation.
No questions.
Just instinct.
The way it had always been.
Her mouth found his neck, her hands working with practiced ease, her body pressing into his like it belonged there.
It should have been enough.
It had always been enough.
But something was wrong.
He felt it immediately.
A disconnect.
A distance.
His body responded just enough to acknowledge her but not enough to meet her.
Not enough to want her.
Jade shifted slightly, adjusting, trying again, her confidence steady, her movements more deliberate.
Still nothing.
His jaw tightened.
She pulled back just enough to look at him, then leaned in again, slower this time, more intentional, as if she could draw him back into something familiar.
He closed his eyes.
And saw her.
Not Jade.
Mary.
Standing in her kitchen.
Breathing the way she had been breathing.
Looking at him like she didn’t understand what was happening to her and didn’t want it to stop.
His hand stilled.
Jade noticed.
Of course she did.
She shifted again, pressing closer, trying to create the reaction she was used to getting from him.
“Come on,” she murmured softly.
He opened his eyes.
This wasn’t going to work.
Not tonight.
“Stop.”
The word came out quiet.
But it held.
Jade froze.
He exhaled slowly.
“I’m sorry.”
And for once, he meant it.
“Not tonight.”
There was a pause.
Then she moved off him, not angry, not offended, just… understanding in a way that made it worse.
She pulled herself together without a word, her expression unreadable.
Then she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.
Then she walked out.
The door closed.
Silence settled into the room.
Elijah sat there for a moment, his chest tight.
Then he stood, poured two fingers of whiskey, and moved to the window.
The night outside was quiet.
Still.
He turned the glass slowly in his hands.
His mind went back to her without effort.
A woman who hummed to herself when no one was watching.
A woman who had stood in her kitchen and looked at him like that.
A woman who had kissed him back.
A woman with an happy family and fulfilled life.
His pastors wife
He thought about the look on her face when he stepped back from that kiss.
Not relief.
Something far more complicated than relief.
He took a slow breath.
He had wanted many women.
He had never wanted one he was genuinely afraid of wanting.
That was new.
That was the problem.
- Writer
