Chapter Text
After the holidays in Canada, Marty flew back to LA and Meryl to New York.
She was meant to spend some time with Grace and her granddaughter.
Grace asked her if she would go with her to Connecticut to her father’s house. Mamie and Henry were there and she wanted the little cousins to spend the day together.
Meryl didn’t want to go.
But she said yes.
It was only an afternoon.
Salisbury House
Being here again—this house, this man—after so long, was daunting.
Her expression was tight. Her steps slow, measured.
Each look, each breath—she was inhaling the past.
Memories crashed into her. Her stomach ached.
The grandkids raced past her, laughing. Delighted that grandma was here—in this house.
They didn’t know it had once been her home too.
Her eyes brimmed with tears.
She missed this house. Missed what it had once meant.
She stepped onto the balcony. Through the trees, the pool shimmered.
Voices floated to her—laughter, joy, splashes of summer.
She closed her eyes and breathed it in.
Then—
The creak of the old floorboards behind her.
Her heart stuttered.
She knew it was him.
She didn’t need to turn. She swallows.
She missed him, too.
God, she missed him. And admitting that made her dizzy.
"I miss this," Don said quietly.
She opened her eyes.
"Miss you."
Could he read her thoughts?
Her breath hitched. Her knees weakened. His voice—saying that—shook her whole body.
They were alone in the house. Everyone else outside.
He waits for her reaction.
She stood still. Couldn’t turn. Just breathed.
He stepped closer.
She could feel his breath on her neck. Her pulse galloped.
"I miss you, Meryl."
Her name.
Fuck. He said her name.
His hands came to rest lightly on her arms.
She trembled—but didn’t pull away.
His fingers moved softly, stroking up and down.
She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
Pressed a kiss to her temple.
Then turned her gently to face him.
He was always gentle with her.
His eyes—soft, warm. Familiar.
She didn’t know if it was the house… the memories… the family nearby…or because she remembered what Don was for her.
Or simply that she wanted to…
But when he slid a hand around her neck and leaned in to kiss her,
She let him.
And kissed him back.
Slowly.
His tongue barely there.
Until she deepened it, her tongue on his mouth—inviting him to taste her.
And he did.
Suddenly, she was pulled back—into the life that had begun after John died.
The years with Don. The touch she hadn’t felt in ages.
She let him kiss her,
Let him slip his hand beneath her blouse.
Let him cup her breasts.
Oh God.
The feeling of him touching her there again was too much.
Familiar. Certain. Sure.
Not rushed. Not needy.
Firm.
His hands had known her breasts when they were younger, fuller, perkier.
When they were heavy with milk.
When they become bigger because she put a little weight around her menopause.
When they softened with age.
He knew every version of her. Knows her body like no other man.
"Come upstairs," he whispered in her ear. "To our old room."
She didn’t speak. Just let him take her hand and lead her there.
He shut the door behind them. Turned the key.
Just in case one of the kids might show up.
Her heart thundered.
She was going to have sex with her ex-husband.
After all this time.
She started undressing.
Her pants. Her blouse.
He undressed too.
Silently.
She slid into bed, slipped off her panties, tossed them aside.
Her bra still on.
She reached back to unclasp it—
"Let me," he said.
He crawled into bed behind her.
Slid the straps down, unfastened it.
Kissed her shoulders.
Then cupped her breasts again—like he’d missed them desperately. Gasping at the feeling of having them in his hands again, after so long.
She moaned as he squeezed them.
Closed her eyes.
Her whole body upside down with emotions she didn’t understand.
He caressed her breasts for a while, feeling her nipples.
Then his mouth.
He kissed, licked, suckled.
Her moans filled the old room again.
Louder than she meant them to be.
He smiled. He liked her loud.
He eased her down and settled between her legs.
Kissed her as she wrapped her arms around him.
His weight on her body, his tongue in her mouth.
Then his hand moved between them, trying to slide inside—
But she wasn’t ready.
"Wait," she whispered. "I'm not wet enough."
He brought two fingers to his mouth, coated them with saliva, and gently stroked her.
She arched at the sensation. His touch—so different from what she was used to nowadays.
He gasped softly, then pushed in slowly.
It hurt. She flinched.
"Am I hurting you?"
"Go slow," she whispered.
He pulled out slightly, then slid in again, tenderly.
She closed her eyes.
Inhaled. Tried to relax. To adjust.
He was still hurting her.
She likes how he fills her. She always did.
But she's not aroused enough...if at all.
When he finally is all in, he starts a pace.
Her eyes are closed but he's looking at her.
He moved with patience. Kissing her forehead. Her lips. Her cheeks.
His rhythm steady. Familiar.
And slowly, her body began to respond.
Memories melting into sensation.
Her body craving him...her memories, wanting him... she starts to moan and to move beneath him. Brushing her breasts on his chest.
Her hips moved. Her hands ran across his back.
"I missed you, Meryl."
He's thrusting harder, feeling and orgasm building, but trying hard to hold it.
When she hears her name on his mouth...again...she starts to feel the burning sensation coming.
But she'll need something more or she won't come.
"Touch me, Don... please."
"Where?"
"My cunt."
The word surprised him—but he did it.
His fingers found her and she bucked into his touch.
He touched her for a while and it came.
She moaned loud as her orgasm came hard.
He covered her mouth with his, to muffle her cries.
Thrusted a few more times, then came.
He collapsed on her, still inside.
They lay there, him softening, his breath slowing.
Just how she used to like it.
Used to.
Her eyes stayed closed. Her face turned to the side.
Then, finally, he rolled away.
She turned her back to him.
Away from him.
She covered herself.
She wishes she could cover all her body.
He looked at her, smiling, and leaned in for a soft kiss.
She turned away. Covered her face with her arms.
"This wasn’t supposed to happen."
"Why not? I think we both enjoyed it."
"Because I have a relationship with another man. You know that, Don.
He shrugged. "Then maybe it’s not that serious. Or you wouldn’t be in this bed."
She sat up. Pulled on her bra. Her panties.
Slid her pants back on. Her hands trembling.
Shaking her head.
"Don’t run away," he said.
"I’m sorry, Don. This was a mistake. I don't want this. It shouldn’t have happened."
Her voice cracked.
She dressed quickly.
Opened the door. Left the room.
Coming down the stairs, she ran into Grace.
Her hair was messy and she’s composing herself.
"Mom, I was looking for you. Where were you?" Grace looks up.
"Oh—I was upstairs. Looking through old stuff. Seeing if there’s anything I want to keep."
Flustered. Trying to sound normal.
"We’re leaving," Grace said looking up.
"Okay. Let me say goodbye to the kids and your brother and sister."
"Is Dad upstairs?"
"I... I don’t know." Her hand reached for the back of her neck. Flustered.
"I’m here." Don appeared at the top of the stairs and started to come down.
"I’m going out," she said quickly. Her voice barely steady.
God. The shame.
She couldn’t believe it had happened.
Why had she let it?
She didn’t love Don anymore. Didn’t want that life.
And yet... for that brief moment—she’d wanted him inside her.
Why?
The second she came, the regret crashed over her.
And the moments after—with him on top of her and lying beside him—felt like an eternity.
She just wanted to go home.
Take a shower and wash it all away.
Fuck!
She says goodbye to her kids and grandkids.
Comes back up to the house.
Grace and Mark are already waiting.
Don finds her alone for a second. He grabs her hand.
She pulls it away.
“Don’t do that. I was just inside you a minute ago.”
“Please don’t say that. It was a mistake.”
“It didn’t sound like a mistake when you were coming,” he murmurs near her ear.
She feels disgusted. With herself.
“Don, please…”
“Okay. So it was just for old times,” he says with a wink. “Stop by more often.”
She doesn’t respond. Heads straight to the car.
Barely says a word the entire drive.
Grace and Mark exchange glances.
“Is everything okay, Mom?”
“Mhm,” she mutters.
They arrive at New York late at night and drop her off at her apartment.
The next day, she catches the first flight to L.A.
When she lands, she goes straight to Marty’s house.
No bags. No calls. No explanation.
He’s surprised to see her at the door.
She doesn’t say anything—just hugs him, kisses him, urgently.
Pulls him to the bedroom.
“Make love to me,” she begs.
He doesn’t understand. The rush. The desperation. The breathlessness.
“Meryl?”
She misses him this much?
But he always wants her. Always will.
She undresses him—hungrily, almost frantically.
Touches him like she’s trying to erase something.
He lets her.
Then him.
Undresses her slowly, with care, his fingers teasing and gentle.
Arousing her with each step.
Touching her and feeling her cunt all wet and ready for him.
Slides into her.
She's sore and hurt from the day before and her face shows pain.
She hides her face in his shoulder, says nothing.
Doesn’t ask him to stop.
Doesn’t want to.
It's him she wants.
She wants him to take her—to make her come, like she knows he will.
She moans. Pants. Whispers his name over and over.
Pulls him deeper. Grips his ass hard.
Grinds against him.
And then she comes. Hard.
He follows. His body shuddering into hers.
They stay still for a moment.
Then he kisses her and rolls on his back.
She hugs him right away.
She’s breathless. Her heart racing.
Nervous. About to break.
Tears start flooding her eyes. Her body trembling.
He looks at her.
“Meryl?”
A sob escapes her.
He sits up, alarmed.
“Meryl, honey… what is it?”
She’s crying. Shaking.
Desperate. She knows desperation is going to come harder.
He reaches for her, holds her tight.
She crumbles in his arms.
“I’m sorry… Marty, I’m so sorry.”
“What happened? Why are you crying? Sorry for what?”
“I’m so sorry.”
She knows she has to say it.
He hears fear on her sob, and fear he gets.
Hugs her tight. The tighter he can.
“I slept with Don.”
The words break through her sobs.
He closes his eyes.
Still holding her, he hears the explosion inside him.
Destruction.
Darkness.
Silence. He no longer hears her cries.
His grip loosens.
His arms abandoning her.
He slowly gets up.
“Marty…” she cries.
He puts on a robe, doesn’t say a word.
He doesn't even look at her.
Leaves the room.
She collapses onto the bed, crying into the sheets.
He goes downstairs. Into his office.
Locks the door.
A few hours later, she comes down, barefoot, in one of his old shirts.
Knocks softly.
“Marty?”
Tries the door. Locked.
He won't speak.
Inside, he sits at his desk. Eyes fixed on the window.
Still. Silent.
He doesn’t feel anger.
Only a sadness so deep it makes him hollow.
Not rage. Not even betrayal.
Just devastation.
A grief too large for anger.
She goes back upstairs.
Lies in the bed they shared.
Waits.
Eventually falls asleep.
Sometime in the night, he enters the bedroom. Quietly.
No lights. No sound.
He walks to the bed.
Sits at the edge. Just looks at her sleeping.
He can barely breathe.
She’s so beautiful.
He loves her so much.
So much it aches. Physically aches.
He gathers a few clothes.
Goes downstairs. Dresses up.
Grabs his car keys.
Leaves.
At dawn, she wakes up.
Reaches for her phone to see what time it is.
A message. From him:
“Please leave. Take your things and leave. Please.”
She breaks.
Sobs wrack her body.
Tears flood her face.
Crying and crying.
Sobbing.
Feeling all the sadness in the world.
Crying. And crying.
And crying.
Flooded with tears.
Then she wakes up!
Gasping. Heart pounding.
Startled. Feeling fear and anguish.
It's the middle of the night.
The bedroom is dark. Shadows stretching across the walls.
Big windows. Wood ceilings.
She’s still in Canada.
She turns.
Marty’s asleep beside her.
She closes her eyes, breathes deeply. Trying to calm down.
Diving in the profound relief that she just had a nightmare.
It was a dream.
Just a dream.
She can’t help it—she moves toward him, needing his warmth.
Wraps her arms around him.
He stirs. Turns to face her.
Wraps her in his arms, half-asleep.
She exhales, melting into him.
Into relief.
Into love.
Everything is alright.
Back where it belongs.