The Housewife's Return To Her Alluring Prime - Chapter 16: Chapter 16
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I was ready for his accusations and anger. His words didn't upset me. I just lay there calmly, meeting his furious, bewildered stare.
"You've treated me well. You were always generous, perfectly polite—a true gentleman in every way. You just... never shared your work life with me or brought me around your friends.
"You simply... stopped loving me. But that doesn't make you any less of a good husband or father." My voice stayed even as I held his gaze, stating facts.
Jared's eyes turned to stone. "That's ridiculous," he snapped. "Why would I have married you if I didn't love you?"
I watched the color rise in his handsome face, his anger giving way to something closer to panic and guilt.
I sighed and closed my eyes. "You did love me once. But love doesn't come with guarantees. Yours changed, and then faded. I could feel it."
"No..." Jared finally lost control. He pushed me down with sudden force, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that burned with anger. His usual tenderness was gone—this was a storm I couldn't weather, his passion overwhelming me completely.
My pajamas slipped away as he moved with rough urgency, his eyes darkening with need. Pinned beneath him, I couldn't resist—and after three months of tension, we finally crashed through that barrier together.
His hands moved over me with urgent purpose, seeking the familiar responses that used to come so easily between us and some sign I still loved him.
For the first time, he'd actually satisfied me completely. Yet I forced myself to keep playing the wounded wife because I knew this marriage still had more to give me.
When he finally released me past 2 a.m., I gathered the sheets around my trembling body and retreated to the guest room, my hair disheveled and eyes glistening with unshed tears.
I couldn't guess Jared's thoughts, but he'd broken his own rules tonight. By making the first move, he'd let down his guard—and that first touch might have just cost him the upper hand.
Jared's sudden change showed me the truth—when I stopped caring and started focusing on myself, unexpected things began to happen.
Men never outgrew that primitive need to chase what eluded them.
I realized that a woman couldn't afford to be gentle with men or love. She had to be tougher when necessary and walk away without hesitation when the time came.
The morning came too soon. I was still half-asleep when Yvonne came barreling in. "Mom!" she shouted, shaking me. "Wake up. It's playtime. No more sleeping. Play with me now."
I kept my eyes closed, pretending not to hear. My spoiling had made Yvonne forget all about manners—here she was, waking me at dawn.
Just as I considered telling her off, Jared's voice came from the doorway. "Yvonne, come out. Let your mother sleep."
"Dad," she complained, "why did you marry someone so lazy?"
"That's no way to speak about your mother," Jared said firmly, ushering Yvonne out and closing the door behind them.
I blinked at the shut door for a moment before drifting back to sleep.
When I woke past nine, Yvonne was outside playing with her pony.
Jared truly spoiled her—when she asked for a pony, he actually had a pure white miniature one flown in from overseas.
Wendy made me a nutritious breakfast. I was halfway through my meal when Yvonne came bounding in. "Mom, you're not going to work today," she declared. "You have to stay home and play with me."
I looked at her while spooning my gruel. "From now on, I will be going back to work," I said. "But we'll sign you up for some fun classes—you'll have teachers and classmates to keep you company."
Yvonne's face paled at the mention of classes. In an instant, she was pointing at me, her voice rising to a wail. "I don't want classes. You're mean. I hate you. I'm telling Grandma." She turned and ran toward the door to find her grandmother.
"Come back," I commanded, my voice icy. "Go ahead—try telling on me."
Yvonne's face was still wet with crocodile tears. She turned to look at me, her eyes wide—almost like she was seeing me for the first time. And for just a second, I caught a flicker of fear.
I set my bread down slowly, took a sip of lemon water, and fixed her with a cold stare. "Yvonne, I'm your mother. I brought you into this world. You will respect me.
"But if you'd rather have a different mother, go ask your father. I won't stand in your way."
Yvonne wasn't stupid. She blinked, getting the message quickly. After a pause, she inched closer, clutching my arm. "Mom, I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I won't talk back again. And I won't tattle to Grandma. I know you love me best."
I studied my daughter—so clever and perceptive. It hurt to remember how, in my previous life, she'd still been taking Tracy's side even when she was thirty years old.
She'd said I deserved the pain, that I was my own worst enemy, dragging everyone down with my unhappiness.
I was failing as a parent, and I didn't know how to fix it. All I wanted was to raise a child who might one day look at me with love—maybe even gratitude.
Modern parenting advice kept telling us to take it easy on our kids. It encouraged us to offer support rather than impose limitations, to foster happiness instead of hardship, and to permit unrestrained development.
But for those of us who grew up in the 80s and 90s, caught between these new ideas and how we were raised, it became exhausting to know what was right.
"Go play. I've got work soon." Rubbing my temples, I nudged Yvonne toward her pony and went upstairs to change.
The mirror reflected the marks Jared had left the night before—love bites scattered down my neck and back. Back then, I would've covered every one, too shy to let them show.
But today, I didn't bother hiding a single one. Why should I? A little passion between spouses was nothing to be ashamed of.
I deliberately chose a sleeveless V-neck sweater with beige trousers, tying my hair back loosely to proudly display last night's love marks. My rose earrings swung provocatively with every move.
I was carrying files down the corporate hallway when I spotted Tracy walking with a group of executives toward a meeting. As we passed each other, I subtly tilted my head to the side.
Tracy stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes locking onto the love bites on my neck.
"You've treated me well. You were always generous, perfectly polite—a true gentleman in every way. You just... never shared your work life with me or brought me around your friends.
"You simply... stopped loving me. But that doesn't make you any less of a good husband or father." My voice stayed even as I held his gaze, stating facts.
Jared's eyes turned to stone. "That's ridiculous," he snapped. "Why would I have married you if I didn't love you?"
I watched the color rise in his handsome face, his anger giving way to something closer to panic and guilt.
I sighed and closed my eyes. "You did love me once. But love doesn't come with guarantees. Yours changed, and then faded. I could feel it."
"No..." Jared finally lost control. He pushed me down with sudden force, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that burned with anger. His usual tenderness was gone—this was a storm I couldn't weather, his passion overwhelming me completely.
My pajamas slipped away as he moved with rough urgency, his eyes darkening with need. Pinned beneath him, I couldn't resist—and after three months of tension, we finally crashed through that barrier together.
His hands moved over me with urgent purpose, seeking the familiar responses that used to come so easily between us and some sign I still loved him.
For the first time, he'd actually satisfied me completely. Yet I forced myself to keep playing the wounded wife because I knew this marriage still had more to give me.
When he finally released me past 2 a.m., I gathered the sheets around my trembling body and retreated to the guest room, my hair disheveled and eyes glistening with unshed tears.
I couldn't guess Jared's thoughts, but he'd broken his own rules tonight. By making the first move, he'd let down his guard—and that first touch might have just cost him the upper hand.
Jared's sudden change showed me the truth—when I stopped caring and started focusing on myself, unexpected things began to happen.
Men never outgrew that primitive need to chase what eluded them.
I realized that a woman couldn't afford to be gentle with men or love. She had to be tougher when necessary and walk away without hesitation when the time came.
The morning came too soon. I was still half-asleep when Yvonne came barreling in. "Mom!" she shouted, shaking me. "Wake up. It's playtime. No more sleeping. Play with me now."
I kept my eyes closed, pretending not to hear. My spoiling had made Yvonne forget all about manners—here she was, waking me at dawn.
Just as I considered telling her off, Jared's voice came from the doorway. "Yvonne, come out. Let your mother sleep."
"Dad," she complained, "why did you marry someone so lazy?"
"That's no way to speak about your mother," Jared said firmly, ushering Yvonne out and closing the door behind them.
I blinked at the shut door for a moment before drifting back to sleep.
When I woke past nine, Yvonne was outside playing with her pony.
Jared truly spoiled her—when she asked for a pony, he actually had a pure white miniature one flown in from overseas.
Wendy made me a nutritious breakfast. I was halfway through my meal when Yvonne came bounding in. "Mom, you're not going to work today," she declared. "You have to stay home and play with me."
I looked at her while spooning my gruel. "From now on, I will be going back to work," I said. "But we'll sign you up for some fun classes—you'll have teachers and classmates to keep you company."
Yvonne's face paled at the mention of classes. In an instant, she was pointing at me, her voice rising to a wail. "I don't want classes. You're mean. I hate you. I'm telling Grandma." She turned and ran toward the door to find her grandmother.
"Come back," I commanded, my voice icy. "Go ahead—try telling on me."
Yvonne's face was still wet with crocodile tears. She turned to look at me, her eyes wide—almost like she was seeing me for the first time. And for just a second, I caught a flicker of fear.
I set my bread down slowly, took a sip of lemon water, and fixed her with a cold stare. "Yvonne, I'm your mother. I brought you into this world. You will respect me.
"But if you'd rather have a different mother, go ask your father. I won't stand in your way."
Yvonne wasn't stupid. She blinked, getting the message quickly. After a pause, she inched closer, clutching my arm. "Mom, I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I won't talk back again. And I won't tattle to Grandma. I know you love me best."
I studied my daughter—so clever and perceptive. It hurt to remember how, in my previous life, she'd still been taking Tracy's side even when she was thirty years old.
She'd said I deserved the pain, that I was my own worst enemy, dragging everyone down with my unhappiness.
I was failing as a parent, and I didn't know how to fix it. All I wanted was to raise a child who might one day look at me with love—maybe even gratitude.
Modern parenting advice kept telling us to take it easy on our kids. It encouraged us to offer support rather than impose limitations, to foster happiness instead of hardship, and to permit unrestrained development.
But for those of us who grew up in the 80s and 90s, caught between these new ideas and how we were raised, it became exhausting to know what was right.
"Go play. I've got work soon." Rubbing my temples, I nudged Yvonne toward her pony and went upstairs to change.
The mirror reflected the marks Jared had left the night before—love bites scattered down my neck and back. Back then, I would've covered every one, too shy to let them show.
But today, I didn't bother hiding a single one. Why should I? A little passion between spouses was nothing to be ashamed of.
I deliberately chose a sleeveless V-neck sweater with beige trousers, tying my hair back loosely to proudly display last night's love marks. My rose earrings swung provocatively with every move.
I was carrying files down the corporate hallway when I spotted Tracy walking with a group of executives toward a meeting. As we passed each other, I subtly tilted my head to the side.
Tracy stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes locking onto the love bites on my neck.
End of The Housewife's Return To Her Alluring Prime Chapter 16. Continue reading Chapter 17 or return to The Housewife's Return To Her Alluring Prime book page.