Chapter 3: Cracks in the Armor

The reason for my disappointment was simple: after we were done, Madison always got dressed and left right away, never lingering.

She’d tie her hair up, slip on her jeans, and be gone before I could say a word. Sometimes she’d check her phone, not even looking at me, as if I was just a pit stop between appointments.

Watching her walk out, I wondered if I’d found a lover or just hired a call girl.

I’d lay back, staring at water stains on her ceiling, feeling like the whole thing was just a transaction. I wanted to believe I mattered to her. But most nights, all I felt was emptiness, like someone who’d overpaid and still left unsatisfied.

Was there really nothing between us but work and sex?

No lazy Sundays, no extra glances—just a rush to get dressed and disappear, as if being around me was an inconvenience.

Her constant detachment only made me want her more.

I started craving her attention in ways I didn’t expect. The more she pulled away, the more I wanted her to stay. Every exit felt like a dare.

That’s when the thought of divorce first crept in.

At first, it was just a whisper. Then it became something I obsessed over—pacing the kitchen at 2 a.m., staring at the glow of the refrigerator, wondering if I could blow up my life for a woman who barely looked back at me after sex.

Once, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I asked as she got dressed, “We’ve done this so many times. Haven’t you developed any feelings for me at all?”

My voice cracked, suddenly vulnerable, hoping for something more.

She paused, giving a bitter smile. “Mike, you’ve got a family. Your wife’s pregnant. If I actually fell for you, what would I get except humiliation?”

Her voice was calm, but her hands trembled as she gathered her things.

Her words made me realize the real problem was my family.

I saw myself through her eyes—not a hero, but a walking complication. No woman wanted to be second choice forever.

So, I started thinking about divorce.

Every night, I’d watch Emily sleep, her hands on her belly, and wonder if I had the guts to blow up my life for someone who never stayed the night.

I’d imagine Madison and me together—shopping on Saturdays, maybe meeting her parents at a diner in Pilsen. Would it be different if we were real?

But the fantasy always stayed just that—a fantasy. The risk was too high. Every list of pros and cons ended with the same conclusion: not worth it.

I didn’t dare divorce Emily.

Not because she only had three months left before her due date, but because if I did, my career would be over.

My six-figure job came courtesy of Emily’s uncle.

It wasn’t just a paycheck—it was our future. The mortgage, the health insurance, the college fund for our baby—all of it depended on her family’s goodwill.

Half of what Madison heard was true: I was connected to the CEO. But I wasn’t his nephew—I was his niece’s husband. That connection was the only reason I landed this job. Without it, my resume would’ve gotten me nowhere near this salary.