A Sweet Second Chance

Shane Hayes and I had been married for almost two years, during which time, he had never shown much sexual drive.

And since I had learned that I was pregnant earlier this year, he hadn't touched me at all, saying that he was afraid of hurting the baby. He had even moved into his study and slept at the small bed it had.

I was only twenty-six years old, married and pregnant, but had to sleep by myself every night. I was lonely and miserable.

Bored out of my wits, I eventually went online and asked around in certain forums. One particular comment piqued my interest. Someone said that perhaps his lack of interest stemmed from the fact that he had already seen a lot of women's bodies.

Shane was an obstetrician by profession, so this made sense.

But there was one tiny detail that just kept nagging at the back of my head.

He always locked the door every time he stayed in his study. We were the only people in this house. Why on earth would he have to lock his door? Was he keeping something from me?

I had been thinking long and hard about this, until it became my biggest concern. I was so bothered, it started to disrupt my daily life.

Finally, on our wedding anniversary, I could no longer bear it and decided to sneak into his study after he went out to work.

The room was simple and clean. Nothing seemed to be amiss, except for the big drawer on his desk. It was locked.

Fortunately, I owned a spare key to this drawer, unbeknownst to my husband.

It wasn't that I wanted to invade his privacy; I had genuinely commissioned a copy out of consideration for him. If he ever lost his key, at least I had a spare.

I quickly opened the drawer, but only found some office supplies. Nothing out of the ordinary. I breathed a sigh of relief and locked it back up. My business was done.

As I passed by his bed on my way to the door, my eyes inadvertently swept through the pillow. I stopped dead in my tracks.

Nestled on it were two strands of curly, red hair.

I was a brunette, and I seldom went into his study. There was no way this was my hair.

My attention was soon grabbed by the trash bin sitting on the floor beside the bed. The unmistakable smell of sex wafted from it, and I looked down to see that it contained several crumpled tissues.

Was he hiding another woman at home?

As soon as the idea popped in my head, I immediately broke out in a cold sweat.

My eyes darted around the study. There was no space for any grown person to hide in this room.

Was I just overthinking things?

Besides, I didn't think Shane would resort to this. Even if he wanted to cheat on me, he would certainly carry on their affair in some other place, wouldn't he? He wouldn't do something so stupid as to bring his mistress into his own home.

He might have gotten those errant strands of hair from a colleague, or a client. As for what was in the trash… Well, so he masturbated. He was an adult man with needs, after all.

Still, it was disheartening to learn that my husband would rather rub one out instead of just having sex with me.

When afternoon rolled around, I made a trip to the supermarket to do my regular grocery shopping. Given today's occasion, I picked out a bottle of red wine, despite the fact that I couldn't drink it.

I went home with a spring in my step. As the hours passed, however, it became painfully clear that Shane had forgotten what day it was. It was very late and he

hadn't been back yet.

I felt a storm of emotions swirling inside my chest. I tried to take deep breaths to calm myself, but then my eyes fell on the bottle of wine sitting in front of me. The sight of it brought my disappointment and anger to the surface, and I reached out and opened the bottle without a second thought.

It was past ten o'clock when the front door opened.

I jumped to my feet and threw myself at Shane the moment he stepped into the foyer. His arms went up to catch me, but his brows were furrowed into a deep frown.

"Did you drink?"

I snaked my arms around his neck and giggled. "Just a little."

"You're pregnant," he chided in a disapproving voice as he struggled to support my weight. "Why did you drink in your condition?"

I closed my eyes and put my head on his shoulder.

"I was hoping we could have dinner together. I waited and waited, but you weren't coming, so I went ahead with the meal by myself. Don't worry, it's just a little red wine; it won't affect the baby. Today is our second wedding anniversary, so it's a special occasion."

"You say that, but you're actually drunk. Here, let me take you to the bedroom."

Shane carried me into the bedroom and laid me on the bed. As he leaned over me, I grabbed the opportunity and wrapped my arms around him before bringing my lips close to his.

"Kiss me, honey."

But my husband only stiffened in response. He did indulge me with a half-hearted kiss, but he was soon pulling away from my embrace.

"Don't do this, Eveline Stone. Think of the baby you're carrying. You ought to be more careful."

My arms were still around his neck. I stared up at him in silent invitation, though I could feel my grievances sneaking into my expression as well.

"You're a doctor, you know it's safe to make love after the first trimester. We just need to take it slow. Don't push me away, honey. Not tonight."

He did, in fact, push me away. He straightened and pulled his tie loose. "I'm going to go take a shower."

The truth was, I never drank a drop of wine. I was pregnant, and of course I knew I shouldn't take alcohol. All I did was splash a few drops of the red wine on my neck and made it my perfume for the night.

I heard the bathroom door close, followed by the sound of running water. It lasted for about ten minutes, then Shane emerged. He walked past the bedroom without even pausing.

Then I heard the door of the study creak open and close, and the distinct click of the lock snapping into place.

I tossed under the quilt for a good while. After an hour, I was finally able to muster the courage to put on my earphones and take out my phone. I clicked on the application that was connected to the bug I had bought.

I acquired it this afternoon, in the same supermarket where I had bought food and wine for our anniversary dinner.

The study was soundproof, and I never had any qualms about it. I doubted Shane would even suspect that a bug was installed under his tiny bed.

As I gained access to the bug, the unmistakable sound of panting and moaning came to my ears. A lump lodged in my throat. My nose stung, and my eyes instantly flooded.

It was clear to me now—it wasn't that he didn't have a sexual drive. From the sound of it, it appeared that he was brimming with libido to an almost uncontrollable degree. It was just that his desires weren't for me.

But it was what I heard next that shocked me to my core.