Things had not been well between Haylee and her husband, John, for a while now. They had not been intimate for years. The reason they stayed together was for their children: they had two; Jamie, a little girl with her father’s eyes and her mother’s complexion, aged eleven; and Malcolm, a precocious eight-year-old who would grow up to be a well-loved comedian. Haylee introducing Looney Tunes to him at a young age had something to do with that.
John traveled for work, he was in IT and helped companies install and maintain their computer systems: he would be gone for weeks on end. His marriage mostly dissolved save for the piece of paper that legally bound them together, he strayed and felt no tinge of regret – being out of state made it simple to separate his home life from his road life. Haylee was not so lucky.
She stayed with the kids days and nights, her mother keeping an eye on them when she went to work. Haylee was a glassblower and had a mastery of the craft that would make her famous, if only she could pursue the skill the way her husband could pursue his. She worked in a little shop that made vases and cups and ashtrays, all decorative and unique, in hues of azure and lilac and sanguine. She was brilliant, with deep breaths and nimble hands, breath and hands that devoted her sexual energies into the work.
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