Page 1 of Unfaithful

CHAPTER ONE

Cole

The keys felt awkward in my grip, their weight unfamiliar, heavier than before. The night pressed in, dense and silent, making the metallic clatter seem unnaturally loud as I fumbled with the lock. My body ached from the long drive, each movement stiff and sluggish. I lingered on the doorstep, the key's cold bite sharp against my palm. Drawing a deep breath, I slid it into the lock, turned it, and stepped inside.

Elsa's voice called out from somewhere deeper in the house. "Cole, is that you?"

"It's me," I replied, slipping off my shoes and placing the keys in the bowl atop the rack near the door.

"Hi, honey." Elsa appeared from the kitchen, moving quickly despite the fullness of her pregnant belly. She looked radiant—one of those rare women who seemed to carry pregnancy effortlessly. Her middle and breasts were fuller, but the rest of her frame remained slim and graceful.

"Hi," I greeted her with a small smile.

She came right up to me, pressing herself against me and linking her hands behind my neck. She leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my head slightly, and her lips landed on my cheek instead. Her brow furrowed.

"Are you feeling okay today?" I asked, resting my hand lightly on her belly. "How's the baby?"

"She's good," Elsa replied with a warm smile. "A little kickboxer. She's been at it all day, like she's trying to find her way out early."

I gently released her hands and stepped into the kitchen. She trailed after me.

"Have you eaten yet?" she asked.

I shook my head. "What do you have?"

Elsa smiled softly, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Your favorite—spaghetti with meatballs," she said. "I figured you'd be hungry after the drive."

I nodded, pulling a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. "Thanks. That sounds great." I took a sip, glancing at her from the corner of my eye. "But you didn't have to do that."

"It's nothing, Cole," she said with a shrug. "Cooking helps pass the time when I'm restless. And, well..." She patted her belly again, grinning. "She's keeping me on my toes."

I leaned against the counter across from her, the tension of the day still clinging to me.

"You should rest, Elsa. You're doing enough just carrying her."

Elsa rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm not made of glass, you know. Pregnancy isn't a sickness."

"Doesn't mean you have to push yourself," I countered gently, setting the glass down. "You need to take it easy. Especially after that scare last week."

She tilted her head, studying me for a moment, her brows creasing slightly. "You seem... off. Did something happen today?"

I hesitated, running a hand through my hair. "It's nothing. Just tired."

Her frown deepened, and she stepped closer, her hand brushing my arm. "Cole, you've been saying 'it's nothing' a lot lately. Talk to me. What's going on?"

"It's really nothing," I said, stepping closer just enough to offer a hint of affection, a small reassurance that might settle the unease in her. She needed something, anything, to make this feel normal again. So, I gave her that. Just a little.

Her expression softened, the sharp lines of concern slowly giving way to something closer to understanding, even relief. I almost convinced myself it was enough.

"It's just been a grueling day at work, that's all," I added, my voice a little gentler than before, trying to smooth over the tension.

I wanted to shrug it off, to bury it like always, but the way she clung to me made it harder. Her hands pressed against my chest, her body edging closer. Wide eyes searched mine, looking for something I couldn't give. She wanted me to kiss her, to touch her like I cared.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

It wasn't sudden, this feeling of indifference toward her. It was a slow unraveling, like a thread pulled too tight, fraying bit by bit until there was nothing left to hold it together. Every forced smile, every hollow conversation and every time she looked at me with that same needy expression—it wore me down. Whatever flicker of affection I might have once felt for herhad long since burned out, leaving only the smoldering remains of obligation.

Because that's all this was now. An act of mercy.

---