Page 2 of Unfaithful

I stayed because I felt responsible because I couldn't be the one to break her. I stayed because I pitied her.

But now, as she stood there—too close—her hand on my chest and her eyes locked on mine, I felt nothing but the weight of it all.

Her presence clung to me, stifling and heavy, like I was drowning in a sea I didn't want to save myself from anymore.

I moved away from her, the motion instinctive, like pulling back from a flame that had burned too hot for too long. Her hand dropped to her side, the warmth of her touch fading as quickly as it had come. She said nothing, but I could feel her eyes on me, heavy with confusion. Or maybe hurt. I just didn't care enough to figure out which.

"Where's the spaghetti?" I said, my voice sharp and detached, cutting through the silence like a slap.

"The sauce is on the stove," she replied, her voice hesitant, like she wasn't sure how to read the mood. "The pasta's over there."

"Okay," I muttered, moving toward the stove without looking back. "I'll help myself."

I felt her eyes on my back as I moved away, but I didn't turn. There was no point.

The kitchen was dim, the stove's heat barely making a dent in the cold that had crept into my bones. I grabbed a plate, moving on instinct, trying to push the tension aside. She was still there, standing behind me, silent, waiting. I could feel her eyeson me—expectant, hoping I would say something, do something—anything to close the distance I'd been creating.

The spaghetti tasted incredible, as always. The meatballs were perfectly round, the sauce thick and steaming. She was sitting next to me, and I could almost hear the unspoken lines running through her head. She wanted us to have small talk, like a normal couple. Something to fill the gap, something to make it seem like we were okay. But the silence dragged on, stretching between us, and I didn't know how to break it.

Perhaps because I didn't want to.

I dug into the pasta and took a bite, focusing on the simple task of chewing. The action felt mechanical, a way to fill the space without having to say anything.

But Elsa broke the silence first like she always did. "We have a doctor's appointment next Thursday. Do you think you can come with me?"

"Of course," I said, nodding with no need to think. I always wanted to be there. I wanted to see our little girl, to see her moving on that screen. There was nothing I wanted more than to see my child.

But then the thought hit me again. What happens when she's born? Can I keep doing this? Keep pretending it's fine, keep living like everything is okay when it feels like it's not? The questions always seemed to find their way back, no matter how much I tried to push them aside.

And as usual, Elsa was oblivious to my mood—or perhaps she ignored it. She started talking about her day. "I went to prenatal yoga again today," she said with a dramatic sigh. "And it was exhausting, oh my God. I swear, the instructor acts like we're all professional athletes or something."

I nodded, unsure of what to say.

"And what about you?" Elsa asked, breaking into my thoughts. Her eyes were on me now, expectant. "You really look tired, Cole." She tilted her head, watching me closely. Her hand reached out and touched my cheek. Her gaze softened. "Maybe try not to work so much."

"Yeah, I know," I said flatly.

She didn't look convinced, but she didn't push it either. Instead, she turned her attention back to her belly, smiling widely as she felt the baby kick. "She's kicking me again. Ooh!" Elsa's face lit up in a way that looked like pure, uncomplicated joy that I couldn't quite share.

I forced another smile, the guilt creeping in again. "That's good," I murmured, though the words felt hollow.

Elsa smiled, surprisingly pleased with my bland response, and that smile still had the power to draw me in. She was beautiful, undeniably so, and it was the reason I couldn't resist her. In the beginning, I couldn't wait to see her, to feel that magnetic pull between us, the electric chemistry that always seemed to crackle when we were together.

It was like fire—wild and intense, the kind that made everything else disappear. There were moments when I'd need her, craving that heat, the way she made me feel alive. The overwhelming desire for her was a need I couldn't shake, and it constantly filled my thoughts. But like all fires, it had dwindled down to something smaller, less urgent, until it was barely a flicker. Until it was nothing at all. Until I couldn't keep up the pretense anymore.

Then came the guilt, a heavy realization that this was all wrong.

I shouldn't be here with her. Not like this. I shouldn't have let it go this far. Fuck, I shouldn't have started it at all.

And now, we were about to have a child. A child I already loved deeply, even though I hadn't met her yet. It was that love—the overwhelming need to be part of her life—that kept me here. Not the mess I'd created, not the mistakes I couldn't undo. And certainly not Elsa.

I turned my head, my gaze falling on the beautiful woman sitting beside me. Her gaze was full of affection and tenderness that was almost unbearable, fixed on me. Elsa loved me. I knew that. She loved me so much that she had accepted this life with me, where she knew I couldn't love her the same way. She knew I could only give her a fraction of myself.

And she knew I didn't really want to be here, that I was here because I had to be, not because I chose to be.

In the early days of her pregnancy, I tried my best to satisfy her, to make her happy. After all, she was carrying my child. Her desire was insatiable. She needed me to fuck her constantly, nagging relentlessly, always on fire. And I gave in every time, convincing myself I had to, because she needed it, because of her pregnancy. I'd rush to her, finding her already naked, her gloriously hot body on full display. My body would traitorously respond, gradually hardening, and I'd follow through even though I felt like a machine, mindlessly going through the motions.

She surely sensed it. That my mind wasn't with her anymore. But Elsa never gave up; she never stopped trying.

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