Mom's WeChat group

The notification lit up my screen again.

Vivienne: @Celeste, haven't seen you post anything in weeks. Everything okay?

I stared at my mother's message in the group chat—the one she'd created, the one she thought was her private sanctuary. The group name glowed at the top: "After Dark Society." Twelve women. All her "close friends." All sharing the same addiction.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard. In this chat, I wasn't Lucas Bennett, seventeen-year-old son of Vivienne Bennett, math teacher at Riverside Prep. Here, I was Celeste—married, adventurous, one of them.

The chat had been buzzing for hours about tonight's party. Five confirmed attendees so far: my mother, Rain, Natasha, and the twins—Stella and Nova Sterling.

I'd met the Sterling twins once. Six months ago, they'd come to our house for brunch. Mom introduced them as "old college friends," but the way they looked at each other over mimosas told a different story.

Identical twins, but night and day in personality. Stella, the older by three minutes, spoke in hushed tones, every word deliberate. Nova bounced when she walked, laughed too loud, touched people when she talked.

What they shared, though, beyond their faces—I learned it three weeks after that brunch, when they joined the group.

The videos they posted made their intentions clear.

Now they were both confirmed for tonight. I'd already seen the messages—something about "trying something bigger" and "finally going through with it."

My phone buzzed again.

Vivienne: @Celeste Hello? You ghosting us now?

I typed quickly.

Celeste:Sorry! Was in the shower. Got pregnant recently—taking a break from posting.

A pause. Then three dots.

Vivienne:Congrats! ...Your husband's?

Celeste: Of course. I don't keep what isn't his.

Natasha:That's actually sweet. Twisted, but sweet.

Vivienne:Natasha, you could find someone, you know. Settle down a little?

Natasha:God no. Why would I cage myself? This is the best my life's ever been.

Rain: @Natasha You're missing out. Cheating while he's RIGHT THERE hits different.

Crystal: Rain's right. I drugged my husband once—light dose—and fucked two guys on our bed while he was passed out three feet away. I came so hard I thought I'd black out.

I set the phone face-down on my desk, pulse hammering.

Fourteen months. That's how long I'd been "Celeste."

Fourteen months since I'd discovered the affair.

……

It started two years ago, when Dad went to prison. Embezzlement. Fifteen-year sentence. I was fifteen.

At first, Mom held it together. She cried at night when she thought I was asleep, kept teaching, kept our house running. We had money—Dad's legal business had been legitimate enough to leave us comfortable. We weren't struggling.

But something cracked in her.

It was subtle at first. She dyed her hair—warmer, lighter. Started wearing dresses that didn't come from Target. Came home late smelling like wine and something else I couldn't name.

Then, last year, I saw her phone unlocked on the kitchen counter.

A message. A photo. Her, in our bathroom, mirror selfie, lace and shadows.

The reply beneath it: “You're going to ruin me.”

Her response: 'That's the plan.“

I don't know what came over me. Maybe I wanted to understand. Maybe I wanted to stop it. Maybe I just needed to know who my mother had become.

So I created a new account. New name. New photos pulled from some Instagram model's page. I messaged her.

Celeste: Saw you in a forum. You seem... interesting.

She replied within five minutes.

It took three months to earn her trust. Three months of playing therapist, confessor, co-conspirator. She told me everything—the one-night stands, the student she'd "tutored" in his childhood bedroom, the hotel rooms, the night she let two strangers take her in the back of a club.

She asked me what I thought she should do.

I told her to do what made her happy.

I watched her leave the house that night—black dress, heels, perfume that clung to the air long after she'd gone. She paused at the door, turned back, smiled.

"I'm meeting a friend. Don't wait up, sweetheart."

She didn't come home until noon the next day.

……

Vivienne: @Celeste You still coming to the next one? After the baby?

I read the message twice before answering.

Celeste: Depends. What's the theme?

Vivienne:*Still deciding. Might make it a couple's night. You could bring your husband. Assuming he's... open-minded.

Rain:LMAO Vivienne you're evil.

Stella:We're in, regardless.

Nova:Stella speaks for both of us, as usual.

Vivienne: It's settled then. I'll send details next week.

I locked my phone.

Downstairs, I heard the front door open. Heels on hardwood.

"Lucas? You home?"

Her voice. Bright. Warm. The same voice that tucked me in when I was eight.

"Yeah, Mom. Upstairs."

"I'm making dinner. Twenty minutes."

I heard her humming in the kitchen—off-key, the way she always did when she was in a good mood.

My phone buzzed one last time.

Vivienne:Can't wait for tonight. It's been too long.

I didn't reply.

I just sat there, staring at the ceiling, wondering when I'd stopped being her son and started being her audience.