My FIL’s Forbidden Postpartum Care - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Richard was hunched over the sink, scrubbing my lace panties with an almost obsessive intensity. His fingers worked methodically, as if erasing more than just stains.
Soon, the delicate fabric was pristine in his grasp—spotless, flawless.
Watching him, I felt a hot rush of shame and anger—but beneath it, something else stirred. A hollow, restless ache I couldn't name.
I couldn't take it anymore. I turned to leave—then froze.
He picked them up again.
Hesitating, he lifted the lace to his nose.
His voice was a low, self-conscious mutter.
"Maybe it's not clean enough?"
His eyes fluttered shut as he inhaled. A second later, he jerked back as if electrocuted, dropping the panties back into the basin like they'd burned him. His face flushed crimson as he snatched up my socks instead, scrubbing furiously.
"Ah, screw it. I'll just toss these and buy new ones."
My cheeks burned. I stood rooted by the door, teeth sinking into my lower lip.
I didn't say a word. Instead, Margaret's smug face flickered in my mind.
I wanted revenge.
By evening, Eric and Margaret were back. Richard had laid out a feast—roasted duck, glazed vegetables, steaming rice.
Eric kept his eyes down, guilt choking his words. Margaret, though? All sugar-coated poison. She plucked a tender piece of fish from the soup and dropped it onto my plate with a saccharine smile.
"Vivian, this carp soup boosts lactation. Richard made it just for you."
Without missing a beat, I slid the fish into Eric's bowl and met her gaze.
"Eric works so hard—even if the paycheck doesn't show it. He deserves this more. Eat up, dear."
Margaret's smile cracked.
"How dare you? My son sacrifices everything for this family! The least you could do is show some gratitude."
Before she could spiral, Richard cut in.
"Enough. Eat. Vivian, ignore her."
Eric coughed into his fist, knowing damn well he had no defense.
"You knew what you were signing up for when you married me."
The words twisted in my gut.
I pitied myself for ever tying my life to such a coward. The food in front of me turned to ash in my mouth.
"I'm done. Enjoy."
I pushed back from the table and walked away.
I left the bedroom door slightly open—a stupid, desperate hope that Eric might follow. That he might finally choose me.
Instead, laughter bubbled up from the dining room.
My fists clenched. Eyes squeezed shut.
A few minutes later, a knock.
"Vivian, uh—my coworkers invited me out for drinks. If you need anything, just ask Mom and Dad."
I scoffed.
"Got it."
"You're the best. I'll stay out tonight. Take care."
The front door slammed.
He was gone.
Alone, I collapsed onto the bed, dragged in a shaky breath, then stepped into the shower.
Steam swallowed the tiny bathroom. I studied my reflection in the fogged-up glass.
Pregnancy hadn't softened my waist. My skin was still porcelain, the kind Eric used to worship—marking every inch with possessive kisses, whispering how I was his.
My fingers traced my curves.
My breasts were fuller now, heavy with milk.
Then Richard's face flashed in my mind. My hands cupped their weight.
A soft moan escaped me. That single touch only deepened the hunger.
Why did despair make this ache worse?
But Eric's neglect left me starving. Only this dulled the pain.
Breath hitching, my fingers trailed lower...
Thirty minutes later, I stepped out, skin flushed, towel-drying my damp hair.
"Vivian."
The rough, accented voice froze me in place.
I turned.
Richard stood there.