Samantha was his sister-in-law. His late wife’s younger sister. After the funeral, she stayed to help. Cook. Clean. Comfort.
Days turned into weeks. Grief blurred into silence. And then, one night, over a shared bottle of wine, their hands touched.
“Do you ever feel… guilty for wanting again?” she whispered.
He nodded. “Every day.”
She leaned in. “Me too.”
Their kiss was slow. Careful. Forbidden.
And yet, when her hand slid under his shirt, he didn’t stop her.
Maybe it was wrong.
But it was the first time in months he felt alive again.