My Husband's Mistress is Our Son's Teacher - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

We'd meet for lunch, take leisurely walks, or simply chill together chatting about silly little things.
Ethan always came across as this serious guy—kind of intimidating at first glance. But when he smiled? That warm, unexpected charm just melted me every time.
Sometimes I'd catch myself watching him with this goofy grin on my face.
"What's so funny?" he asked one afternoon, nailing me mid-stare.
"Nothing," I shrugged playfully. "Just thinking the world needs more of your smile."
He fought it for half a second before cracking. "You're not what I expected," he admitted.
"Oh? You thought I'd be some bitter divorcee plotting revenge?" I teased, tossing my hair back—accidentally brushing his cheek. He flinched like I'd shocked him.
"Kind of," he confessed.
"Look," I said, keeping it light, "at first it felt like my world was ending. But once the dust settled? I realized I'm young. My whole life's ahead of me. Ryan leaving doesn't mean game over—worst case scenario, I get a fresh start."
Turning serious, I met his eyes. "If this is pity time, you can stop now. I don't need charity."
"That's not—" he cut in too fast, then caught himself. "I like being around you. Seriously. This isn't wasted time—I'm here because I want to be."
God, his awkward sincerity was adorable. Still single after all these years, he had zero game.
Before he could react, I pulled him into a hug. "Thanks. That... means more than you know."
He went rigid as a board.
Laughing, I backed off. "Whoops! Got a little carried away."
"It's cool," he said, trying way too hard to sound casual.
I made a point not to dwell on college memories—no matter how sweet, nostalgia would just tarnish them. Instead, I focused on making new moments with him.
And judging by how things were going? Mission accomplished.
Ironically, I owed Ryan's cheating ass for this. So busy making excuses to avoid me, he never noticed where I was or who I was with.
Ethan became our errand boy—dropping off stuff Ryan "forgot." My clueless husband actually thanked him for helping out.
Still, Ethan got twitchy when Ryan was around, always bolting before dinner.
That night—with Ryan supposedly on a "business trip" (yeah right) and James at his grandpa's—I brought soup to Ethan's office.
His firm had been swamped. Between endless client dinners, he looked wrecked when he finally emerged—past 10 PM, reeking of whiskey, dark circles under his eyes.
"Your chariot awaits," I announced, holding up the thermos.
Ethan's tired face lit up. "You're too much."
"VIP treatment for our top client," I winked, ushering him to my car.
By the time we reached his place, he was barely coherent. Half-dragging him upstairs, I fished through his pockets for keys.
Suddenly his hand clamped over mine. "The hell you doing?"
"Easy tiger," I laughed. "Just getting your keys. You're smashed, remember?"
"Mmm." He nuzzled into my shoulder, his whiskey breath sending tingles down my neck.
Finally inside, I dumped him on the couch and went for water. His pristine apartment screamed "bachelor who hires cleaners"—sterile as a hotel room. No honey for his hangover either.
As he sipped, I mom-voiced him: "Mr. Vice President, delegate some dinners. And stock honey! And never drink empty-stomached—"
I froze mid-lecture. Ethan was staring with this intense look I couldn't read.
"Sorry, am I nagging?"
Instead of answering, he yanked me into a hug. For one electric moment, I thought—
Then he pressed something cold into my palm. A key.
"For you," he mumbled. "Next time... easier."
My heart skipped. When a man gives you his key? That's not subtle.
We let the silence linger.
As I tucked him in, he slurred: "Nicole... should've never let you go to Ryan."
I left smiling.
Exactly the progress I'd hoped for tonight.