The Consultant’s Postpartum Trap - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

They were laughing, flirting—my husband's face glowing with an intimacy I hadn't seen in years.
I stood frozen, watching them walk away, my chest tight with a bitterness that threatened to choke me.
Ten years. Ten years of love, of building a life together. He was the father of my child.
And yet, in the end, none of it had mattered.
Tears blurred my vision, and then—
"Mrs. Laurent... are you alright?"
Ethan Roscente stood a few feet away, grocery bags in hand. His gaze flickered to my red-rimmed eyes before he wordlessly offered a tissue.
"Here."
I barely registered it, brushing past him toward the car.
But he caught my arm, his grip firm. "Let me drive you home."
The kindness in his voice only twisted the knife deeper. A stranger could show me more care than the man who had promised to love me forever.
I shook him off.
By the time I stumbled through the door, my mother took one look at me and frowned. "What's wrong?"
I had no one else. Just her. Just my baby.
At our wedding, he had sworn to cherish me. And now?
"Mom—"
The dam broke.
She listened, her expression darkening with every word. Then she grabbed my wrist, fury in her grip. "We're going to find him. Right now. How dare he do this to you—right after you gave birth?"
I yanked free. "No. I'll handle it."
On the drive home, I'd already made my decision.
If he could betray me, I wouldn't play the martyr.
I'd take my child and leave.
But first—I'd make sure they both paid.
When I called him, his voice was light, oblivious. "Miss me already? I'll be back after this business trip."
I'd wait. Until I had proof.
Then my phone buzzed—Ethan's messages flooding in.
Are you okay?
Did you get home safely?
Please don't push yourself. You're still recovering.
...I'm worried.
The last one had just arrived.
I wasn't stupid. I knew how he felt about me.
Before, I'd ignored it—for my marriage, for my family.
But if my husband could throw away loyalty, why should I cling to it?
Besides, the engorgement was unbearable. And Ethan could help with that.
I called him.
"Are you free tonight? It's bad. I need you."
Surprise flickered in his voice, but he agreed, cautious.
After hanging up, I removed the living room camera.
He arrived after dark, concern etched into his features. When I didn't speak, he didn't push.
He moved toward the couch, setting up as usual.
"Not here," I said flatly. "The bedroom."
I didn't wait to see his reaction.
A beat of hesitation. Then footsteps behind me.
This time, there was no massage oil.
His hands were careful, professional—until my body betrayed me, responding in ways I didn't suppress.
Within an hour, his breathing was uneven, his skin flushed.
He pulled back, voice rough. "The blockage's better. We can shorten future—"
I kissed him.
He stiffened, hands lifting to push me away—then freezing when he realized how little separated us.
I smirked against his ear. "What's wrong, Ethan? Can't handle this?"
No man could resist that challenge. Not even him.
To his credit, he was gentle. Maybe it was the training.
But after, regret crashed over me. I didn't want my child to have a mother who'd sunk this low.
Ethan looked wrecked—angry at himself, at me, at this entire mess.
"Leave," I said, turning away.
He hesitated, lips parting like he wanted to say something.
In the end, he left in silence.
I knew his feelings weren't pure.
Maybe he cared. But that care was tangled in guilt.
And I?
I felt nothing at all.