After My Husband Cheated, I Fell for My Younger Trainer Chapter 01
At two in the morning, my husband, Ethan Walker, and I had just finished having sex.
His breathing had not even settled before he got up and headed for the bathroom.
As soon as the shower started running, the phone on the nightstand suddenly lit up.
I picked it up without thinking, and a message from Lily appeared on the screen.
[You were too rough earlier. My stomach still feels a little sore.]
I glanced toward the bathroom and nearly laughed out loud.
With what little Ethan had to work with, he had somehow made her stomach hurt?
She was really going above and beyond to squeeze money out of him.
Afraid she would keep messaging and disturb my sleep, I replied for Ethan.
[Sorry, baby. I lost control. If you still feel uncomfortable tomorrow morning, go to a clinic. I’ll cover the bill. Get some sleep now, and stop messaging me.]
After sending it, I placed the phone back on the nightstand.
But my mind drifted to Kyle Bennett, with his broad shoulders and solid, powerful build.
Compared with Kyle, Ethan had been like a boy in bed.
…
A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened.
Ethan walked out with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.
There was a faint red mark on his neck.
I had not left it there.
He did not even try to hide it, as though he were certain that even if I noticed, I would not dare say anything.
Two years ago, I would have shoved his phone in his face, sobbing as I demanded to know who the woman was.
Then I would have smashed glasses, thrown plates, and hurled our framed photographs at the wall until the neighbors called the police.
In the end, he would only look at me coldly and say, “Erin Carter, can you stop acting insane?”
Now, I was simply tired.
Ethan dried his hair, dropped onto the bed, and fell asleep almost immediately.
I turned away from him and picked up my own phone.
A message Kyle Bennett had sent three hours earlier was still waiting on the screen.
[You looked pale when you got into the pool today. Did you skip dinner again?]
The next message was a photo.
A pot of chicken soup sat steaming on his stove.
[Come half an hour early tomorrow. I’ll bring you some chicken soup.]
I stared at the photo for a few seconds before a smile slipped across my face.
I replied, [Got it, Coach Bennett.]
His response came immediately.
[Use my name.]
I deliberately pretended not to understand.
[Coach Kyle.]
A string of voice messages appeared.
Afraid of waking Ethan, I converted them to text.
[Erin, call me that again, and I’m making you swim two extra laps tomorrow.]
A quiet laugh escaped me.
The man beside me shifted.
I immediately turned my phone facedown.
Ethan did not wake.
He only frowned slightly, as if an annoying sound had disturbed him in the middle of a good sleep.
I studied his profile and suddenly realized that his face no longer made my heart race the way it once had.
Back in college, he had been the most popular guy in our department.
His features were almost flawlessly handsome, his expression was always distant, and his grades were excellent.
Women from every year were always approaching him.
I spent an entire year pursuing him.
I brought him breakfast, saved him a seat, and waited for him until late at night after club activities.
Some people laughed at me for chasing him so openly.
Others said that with a family as wealthy as mine, I should have had better taste than to chase the coldest, most sought-after guy on campus.
I did not care.
Back then, one extra glance from him could keep me happy for the rest of the day.
The day Ethan finally agreed to date me, I was so happy that I went home and cried in my mother’s arms.
His family was not wealthy.
After we married, my parents paid for the apartment we lived in.
My mother handled the renovations and furnishings, and my father helped Ethan secure his first respectable job.
I used to believe that loving someone meant giving him everything I had to offer.
As long as he was happy, I felt happy too.
But when someone receives too much help, it becomes easy for him to mistake other people’s support for his own ability.
Ethan had moved up at work over the past two years.
More and more young women began gathering around him, and he became increasingly busy.
Too busy to reply to my messages.
Too busy to remember our anniversary.
Too busy to remember which flowers I liked, what flavors I preferred, or that he had a wife waiting at home for him.
Whenever we argued, he never tried to comfort me.
He simply left me alone to deal with the pain.
But he remembered to buy a bag for the new young employee.
He remembered that she did not eat onions or cilantro.
He remembered to drive her home.
He remembered to buy her medicine when her stomach hurt in the middle of the night.
I closed my eyes.
There was no pain left in my heart.
Only a deep, bone-deep aversion I could no longer ignore.
The next morning, Ethan woke up later than usual.
I was sitting at the dining table drinking coffee when he picked up his phone.
The moment he unlocked it, his expression changed.
His finger hovered over the screen without moving.
He was visibly nervous.
“Erin.”
I stirred my coffee.
“Hmm?”
He looked at me, conflict flickering in his eyes.
“Last night, my phone…”
“It rang.”
I looked up at him, my tone casual.
“It woke me up.”
His mouth tightened.
“You saw it?”
I set down my spoon.
“Obviously. Or did your AI assistant write that reply for you?”
His expression flickered, but he quickly forced himself to look calm.
“It’s not what you think.”
I nodded.
“Whatever.”
He stared at me, clearly caught off guard.
The old me had always demanded answers.
Who was she?
How far had things gone between them?
Did he remember that he was married?
How could he be so shameless?
Every question only hurt me more and made the argument more vicious.
Now that I was no longer asking, he did not know how to react.
Ethan walked toward me and lowered his voice.
“I drank too much last night. There are things I can explain.”
I picked up my bag, stepped around him, and headed for the door.
“You don’t need to explain. It doesn’t matter.”
He grabbed my wrist.
“Erin, what is that supposed to mean?”
I lowered my eyes to his hand.
As though suddenly realizing what he was doing, he released me.
I smiled faintly.
“It doesn’t mean anything. I’m going to be late for work.”
When I reached the door, he called after me again.
“I’ll come home early tonight. We need to talk.”
I kept putting on my shoes.
“No need. I have a class tonight.”
“What class?”
I turned to look at him.
“Swimming.”
Ethan frowned.
“When did you start taking swimming lessons?”
I stared at him and suddenly found the question almost funny.
I had been learning for nearly six months.
He did not know.
He did not know that I used to spend entire nights awake, waiting for him to come home.
He did not know that I had lost almost twenty pounds.
He did not know that I had started taking antidepressants.
And when I finally began smiling again, he did not know that either.
I only said, “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
The moment the door closed behind me, I heard a dull crash from inside the apartment.
It sounded like a cup smashing against the wall.
What a shame.
I had actually liked that cup.
