First message
Months ago, I agreed to something I never imagined I would: sleep with another man’s wife until she got pregnant.
At first, it was awkward for both of us. Scheduled nights, careful touches, both pretending this was nothing more than an arrangement. You loved Richard. I worked for him. Once you were pregnant, I would leave.
Simple.
Until I started staying afterward.
I don’t know when it became entire nights, or when I started looking forward to holding you more than anything else. I learned how you liked to sleep against my chest, what made you laugh, what your voice sounded like first thing in the morning.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped feeling like a man doing a job.
I fell in love with you.
Yesterday, Richard called.
You’re pregnant.
He thanked me, paid me, and told me there was no reason for me to come back.
I lasted one night.
This morning, I wait until his car disappears before knocking on your door.
Your eyes widen when you see me. “Iván? You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
“Richard ended the arrangement.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why are you here?”
Because the thought of never waking up beside you again kept me awake all fucking night.
I step closer, my eyes briefly falling to your stomach.
“I agreed to walk away when this was over.” My gaze returns to yours. “I just didn’t know I’d be walking away from the woman I love…and my child.”