Chapter 14 Mirrored Sins

Chapter 14 Mirrored Sins
The days after the funeral blurred into gray. Rain kept falling, steady and mean, like the sky was trying to wash the stain off the house but couldn’t quite reach it. Humphrey’s urn sat on the mantel in the living room,a small brass thing, heavier than it looked.

Mom dusted around it every morning without touching it. She moved slower now, like grief had added weight to her bones. I caught her staring at it sometimes, eyes blank, then she’d turn away fast and start wiping counters that were already clean.

I couldn’t look at the urn without seeing the symmetry. Humphrey’s sins laid bare at his own service. Susan and Lilly standing there, voices steady, dropping the truth like grenades. Both pregnant,by him. The man who raised me,the man who wasn’t my father. And here I was fucking my aunt, maybe fathering her child,same bloodline. same depravity,just wrapped in different excuses.
what a taboo!!!

I hated the mirror those days. Every time I passed one, I saw him in my face, the same jaw. The same hard eyes when I got angry. Robbinson’s blood, sure, but Humphrey’s habits. The selfishness. The way I chased what felt good and damn the fallout.

Hypocrisy burned in my chest like bad whiskey. I’d judged him for years,his gruff commands, his cold silences, the way he treated Mom like furniture. Now I was doing worse. Quietly. Secretly. With a smile when people asked how I was holding up.

Ruby and I didn’t stop,I couldn't,grief made it hungrier somehow,like we were both trying to outrun the mirror.

She texted late one night. Two days after the burial. I can’t sleep,Come over. The back door’s open.

I waited till Mom’s light went out upstairs. I slipped out the kitchen door. Rain soaked me in thirty seconds. Hood up, hands in pockets, I walked the three blocks to her place.absolutely not with my car,Too risky. Neighbors might notice lights.

She opened the back door before I knocked. Hair damp, like she’d been standing there waiting. Thin robe,and nothing underneath. She pulled me inside, shut the door quietly, and locked it.

No words at first. Just mouths crashing. Her back against the fridge. My hands under the robe, finding skin still warm from the shower. She tasted like toothpaste and salt. Grief salt. Tears maybe. Mine too. I lifted her. Her legs around my waist. I carried her through the dark house, up the stairs. Their bedroom,his bedroom,and the door already open.

We hit the bed hard,Sheets still smelled faintly of his cologne. That made it worse, hotter and Wronger.

She pushed me onto my back,straddled me. Robe open,Breasts heavier now,Nipples dark. She ground down slow, wet already. I need this,she whispered. The baby needs this, I need to feel something else.

I gripped her hips. Thrust up. “Then take it.”

She rode me hard. Head thrown back,Moans low but desperate, Nails raking my chest. I watched her,belly just starting to curve, skin glowing in the dim lamp light. Beautiful,forbidden, Mine, Maybe.

Guilt hit mid-thrust. Sharp. I flipped us. Pinned her wrists above her head. Fucked deeper, Harder. Trying to drown the thoughts. Her legs locked around me. Heels digging into my ass. “Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Don’t you dare stop.”

I didn’t. I kept going until she arched, clenched around me, and came with a muffled cry against my shoulder. I followed seconds later,I spilled inside her, no condom. Reckless, Stupid,Same as always.

After, we lay tangled,breathing heavily. Rain tapping the window.She traced circles on my chest. “The girls… they’re keeping them.”

“I know.”

“Like us.” I closed my eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” Silence stretched. Then she said, quieter, “I don’t regret it,not any of it.”

I didn’t answer.I couldn’t.

We met three more times that week. Always her place. Always late. Always the matrimonial bed. Each time felt dirtier. Grief made it raw. We fucked like we were punishing each other,or saving each other. Hard to tell.

But how on earth would I be fucking my pregnant aunt, that was when I was more heartless than the devil himself.

One night she cried after, Quiet sobs into my neck. “He knew,” she whispered. “Humphrey. He suspected us. Asked me once if I was seeing someone. I laughed it off,but he watched me after that.”

My stomach twisted. “He never said anything to me.” “He wouldn’t. He had his own shit to hide.”

More symmetry, more depravity, I held her tighter,and hated myself more.

Alliances cracked fast after the funeral.Susan and Lilly stopped coming over. Mom invited them twice. They declined. Polite texts. “Busy.” “Not feeling up to it.” Mom stared at her phone after the second one. “They blame me,” she said. “for not seeing it.”

I didn’t argue. Maybe they did.

Robbinson came by every day,brought food,and sat with Mom in the living room. Held her hand when she cried. She let him,and didn’t pull away. I watched from the hallway once. His thumb stroking her knuckles. Familiar. Too familiar. Mom’s confession rang in my head. Years of it. Robbinson,my real father,comforted his long-time lover while his wife carried my child.

I walked away. Stomach sour.

One afternoon Susan showed up alone. Lilly wasn't among,knocked on the back door like she didn’t want to be seen.
I let her in. Kitchen. She stood by the sink. Arms crossed. “Are you still seeing her?” she asked. No hello.

I froze. “What?” “Ruby. Don’t play dumb.”
I looked away. “None of your business.”

She laughed. Short. Bitter. “It is when it’s the same shit Grandpa pulled,just dressed up nicer.”

Guilt slammed me. “It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” She stepped closer,eyes hard. “You think because you’re both adults it’s okay? Because she wants it? That’s what he told us at first. ‘You want this too.’”

I flinched. “I didn’t..”

“Save it.” She turned to leave,paused at the door. “Lilly’s not doing great. Morning sickness is hell. And she cries at night,thinking about him,about what he did and about keeping it anyway.”

She left. The door clicked shut.
I stood there. Shaking,That night I went to Ruby again. I needed to feel something. Anything.

She opened the door. Pulled me in. We didn’t make it upstairs. Kitchen counter again. Dress hiked,panties shoved aside. I took her from behind. Fast and rough. Her hands braced on the edge. Moans sharp.

After, she turned. Kissed me slowly. “We’re not them,” she said again.

But the words felt hollow now,alliances fractured wider.

Mom started sleeping in the guest room. Said the master felt too empty. Robbinson stayed later each visit. One night I came home late,after Ruby,and found his car still in the drive, Lights off downstairs. Upstairs, Mom’s room door closed. Soft voices. Murmurs.

I stood in the hall and listened.I was definitely not proud of it. I heard her laugh,small, broken. His low rumble.

I went to my room. Shut the door,and sit on the bed.

Everything cracking.The next morning Mom avoided my eyes at breakfast. Robbinson gone already. She poured coffee. Hands steady now.

“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “Getting there.” But her eyes said differently.

Susan texted me that afternoon. Short. We need to talk. All of us. Soon.

No details. I stared at the message. Heart pounding,con
frontation brewing,Heavy and Inevitable,and I had no idea how to stop it or if I even wanted to.