Chapter 11- THE WET SPOT

I stepped into the house quietly, hoping Ryan had already gone to bed. The lights were still on in the living room. He sat on the couch, staring at his phone. The second I closed the door, he looked up.

“Where have you been?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“Training,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “It ran longer than I thought.”

Ryan stood up slowly and walked toward me. His gaze dropped straight to my chest. I realized too late that one side of my sports bra was still damp. The wet spot from Marcus’s mouth hadn’t dried.

“Why are your nipples hard?” he asked, voice low and sharp. “And why is that side wet?”

I crossed my arms quickly. “It’s just sweat, Ryan. The workout was intense. I was doing a lot of cardio and lifting.”

He didn’t believe me. I could see it in his face. He stepped closer, eyes scanning my body like he was looking for proof.

“Take off your jacket,” he said.

“I’m tired. Can we do this tomorrow?”

“No. Take it off.”

I sighed and pulled off my light jacket. He stared at my chest again, then reached out and touched the wet fabric with two fingers.

“That’s not normal sweat,” he muttered. “Looks like someone was sucking on you.”

My stomach dropped. “Ryan, stop. You’re being ridiculous. It’s from training. My clothes get wet when I push hard.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t a nice laugh. “You expect me to believe that? You come home late, smelling like another man’s cologne, with wet nipples? Give me your phone.”

I held my bag tighter. “No. You don’t get to go through my phone every time you feel suspicious.”

“Give it to me, Bella!” His voice rose. He grabbed my bag. I stepped back, but he was faster. He snatched it and started going through my pockets.

“Ryan, stop! This is crazy.”

He found my phone and unlocked it with the code he somehow knew. His thumb moved fast across the screen. I tried to grab it back, but he turned away.

“Who the hell have you been talking to?” he demanded. “All these messages from Marcus. Late night texts. What kind of training needs messages at midnight?”

“They’re just about scheduling,” I lied. My heart was racing. “He’s a professional trainer. That’s it.”

Ryan scrolled more. His face got redder. “Professional?

The argument got louder. I finally managed to grab my phone back and went to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I sat on the edge of the tub, breathing hard. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. How much longer could I keep doing this?

I stayed there for almost an hour, washing my face, changing into my biggest sleep shirt, trying to calm down. When I finally came out, the house was quiet. Ryan was already in our bed, back turned to my side.

I walked over slowly, exhausted. I just wanted to lie down.

“Ryan,” I whispered. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

He didn’t turn around. “Sleep in the guest room. Or the living room. Or the floor. I don’t care. Just not here.”

I froze. “What?”

He finally looked at me, eyes cold. “I don’t want anything heavy weighing down the bed. You understand?”

Those words hit me like a slap. Heavy. The way he said it made my stomach twist. I stood there, throat tight, fighting back tears. I wanted to scream at him, but I had no energy left.

“Fine,” I said quietly.

I grabbed a blanket from the closet and went to the living room. The couch was too small for my body. I lay down, curling up as best as I could. My back hurts. My heart hurts even more. Tears rolled down my cheeks onto the cushion.

I thought about Marcus. About how he touched me like he couldn’t get enough. About how Ryan hadn’t touched me with desire in over a year. Now he was treating me like I was disgusting.

I pulled the blanket tighter around me. The house felt colder than ever. Sleep didn’t come easy. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ryan’s angry face or Marcus’s hungry one.

This marriage was breaking me.

And I didn’t know how much longer I could pretend it wasn’t.

The next morning came too soon. My back ached from sleeping on the couch all night. The blanket had slipped off, and my body felt stiff. I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes. The house was quiet except for the sound of birds outside. I needed water badly. My throat was dry from crying.

I walked to the kitchen in my big sleep shirt, hair messy. The fridge light hit my face as I grabbed a bottle. I drank deeply, hoping it would wash away some of the heaviness in my chest.

Footsteps came from the hallway. Ryan walked in, still in his pajamas. I forced a small smile.

“Good morning,” I said softly.

He didn’t even look at me. He went straight to the cabinet, took out a glass, filled it with water, and drank it like I wasn’t standing right there. The silence felt louder than any argument. He put the glass down and walked past me again without a word.

My throat tightened. I wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck. I just stood there holding my bottle, watching his back disappear down the hall.

We got ready for church in complete silence. I picked a modest floral dress that covered my curves well. Ryan wore his usual Sunday shirt and trousers. We moved around each other like strangers in the same house. No “you look nice.” No small talk. Just the sound of drawers opening and closing.

In the car on the way to church, I tried once. “The pastor’s message last week was really good. I hope today's the same.”

Ryan kept his eyes on the road. “Yeah.”

That was it.

At church, everything changed. The moment we stepped through the doors, Ryan became the perfect husband. He held my hand, smiled at everyone, and even put his arm around my waist when we greeted friends.

“Morning, Pastor,” Ryan said warmly. “Bella and I have been praying together more lately. She’s been working so hard on her health.”

People smiled at us. “You two are such an inspiration,” one lady said. Ryan nodded and kissed my temple right there in front of everyone. I smiled back, but inside I felt sick. This was the man who told me I was too heavy for our own bed last night.

During the service, he held my hand the whole time. When the pastor talked about love and forgiveness, Ryan squeezed my fingers gently. I wanted to pull away, but I couldn’t. Not in front of all these people who thought we had the perfect marriage.

After church, some of his friends came over to our house. They sat on the balcony with their wives, laughing and drinking juice. I tried to join them, carrying a tray of snacks.

“Hey everyone,” I said with a smile.

Ryan looked up. “Bella, can you get more ice from the kitchen? Sarah’s drink is warm.”

I went inside. When I came back, he sent me again. “Babe, can you check if we have more chips? Mike is hungry.”

This happened three more times. Every time I tried to sit and join the conversation, he found another errand for me. “Bella, can you help Sarah with that thing she mentioned?” Even his friends’ wives started looking uncomfortable.

I felt smaller with every trip. My dress suddenly felt too tight. My body is too big and too much. After the fifth errand, I stopped trying. I went inside, closed the balcony door, and lay down on the couch in the living room. My mood was too heavy for a live stream. I just wanted to rest.

I closed my eyes, trying to forget the humiliation.

One of Ryan’s friends, Mike, stood up from the balcony. “I need to use the restroom real quick.”

He walked inside the house and headed toward the living room. As he passed the couch, he stopped.

Bella was lying there asleep, her Sunday dress had ridden up a bit. Her thick thighs were slightly parted, the soft curves of her body relaxed in sleep. The position was unintentionally revealing.

Mike stood there for a long second, eyes lingering. He didn’t move immediately.

From the balcony, Ryan called out, “Mike? Are you good in there?”