Falling For My Best Friend’s Son

Sophie 

"You're two months pregnant, Sophie" my best friend Vanessa said in an annoyed tone, over the phone. "You shouldn't be stressing yourself. He should be the one making the effort"

I sighed. I knew she was right but a stubborn part of me didn't want to take heed. 

"It's our anniversary today. I need to do something special for him" I said as I holding up two different brands of pasta, undecided on which one to pick.

"I know Ryan and I have had our rough patches, but I still believe we can make things work" I added and I heard Vanessa's resigned sigh over the phone. 

"Okay Soph, call me when it's over" she said. "And please don't overdo it"

"I won't" I chuckled and hung up.

I picked a few more things and I went to pay. 

I was so sure that it would take a while before Ryan forgot the surprise dinner I was about to plan for him.

He'd texted me earlier, saying that he'd be back from his business trip by evening so I wanted to prepare everything in anticipation of his arrival. 

I felt it in my bones that this would be our best anniversary ever. 

***********

When I got home, the first thing I noticed was Ryan’s shoes by the door. 

Was he back already? Wow, there went my surprise dinner. 

Then I saw a pair of black heels right next to his shoes.

Had a woman visited him? 

Maybe it was a colleague? Or a client?

Trying not to think too much, I carried the groceries into the kitchen and set them down.

“Baby?” I called out lightly. “Are you home?”

There was no answer.

"Ryan..." I called again as I approached the bedroom. 

That was when I heard it.

Low moaning sounds, heavy breathing and a woman’s soft gasp. 

My body went cold.

No. No. No.

It couldn't be what I thought it was.

I immediately rushed to the door and opened it.

And then I saw them.

Ryan, my husband.

On our bed with a strange woman. 

I felt my throat tighten and my head spin.

My husband—the one whom I was planning a surprise dinner for our anniversary—was completely naked, hips driving forward in steady, rhythm over another woman. 

She was on her back beneath him on our white sheets, legs hooked high around his waist, red-painted nails digging into his shoulders. 

The worst part of it all was that he saw me.

Our eyes met the moment I entered the room.

But he didn't stop.

His mouth curved into an amused smirk as he continued. 

Only after he shuddered hard, buried deep one last time, and let out that long, satisfied exhale did he finally ease out of her. 

Only then did he roll to the side, reach for the boxers he’d tossed on the floor earlier, and pull them on with lazy, unhurried movements.

That was when he spoke.

“Oh,” he said, voice perfectly even, as though I’d just walked in on him reading a report. “You’re back.”