Proud to be back at Necessary Fiction! Thank you, Lacey N Dunham, for publishing my work!
Femke knows it’s not sex. They’re still enjoying each other’s bodies, and he never smells of anything but himself. She trusts her nose, her hunter’s sense. It’s not sex.
The question, posed in a casual tone, comes from her daughter, Luna, not from him. Eight years old and already observing her mother observing the man in their house. Femke and Luna sit opposite each other at the dinner table and survey Noud in the living room as though he were an animal in the zoo. He left the table immediately after the pasta with pesto, Luna’s favorite, and is getting his stuff together inefficiently, walking back and forth. Phone, scarf, wallet, envelope — its contents unknown.
Femke clears her throat.
“Nothing. There’s nothing wrong.”
Read the rest of this story in Necessary Fiction.