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I kept my face to the wall. I made my breathing slow and even.
After a long while her hand left my back.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Goodnight, Cal.”
I heard her get up and go into the bathroom. The shower ran for a long time. When she came back she smelled of her own soap again, not his, and she lay down on her side of the bed with a careful gap between us.
Neither of us slept.
At about four I heard her crying, very softly, trying not to. I wanted to roll over and hold her. I didn’t. I lay there like a coward, wide awake, my cock still stupidly half hard from the memory of her moans through the floor, and hated myself for all of it at once.
In the morning she made coffee and we were extremely polite to each other.
Ross texted me at lunchtime. You alright mate? Fi okay?
I didn’t reply.
It took us two months and a very patient marriage counsellor to talk about that night properly. We got there. We’re fine now. Better, even, in some ways.
But we never invited Ross round again. Sunday dinners stopped. He sends a card at Christmas.
And sometimes, late at night, I lie awake and remember the sounds she made down there, and wonder what would have happened if I’d just turned over and asked.
Ending 16 of 16: Cold Bed. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.