On the 129th night postpartum, Elisa Bennett finally felt her husband's long-awaited touch. Under the dim bedside lamp, Dylan Cooper, her husband, pressed down on her, his breath ragged, sweat dripping onto her collarbone. At that moment, she was on the edge of crying out in excitement. For four long months, she'd secretly done pelvic exercises and slathered firming creams on her lower body, all for this moment—to please her husband again. But then Dylan's body suddenly stiffened. He yanked out as if he had been stained by something filthy, his face twisting into a terrifying scowl. "So fucking loose," he spat, his voice thick with disgust. "Plunging into you feels like a pile of cotton. Zero fucking sensation." Elisa felt like she'd been kicked in the gut. Instinctively squeezing her thighs to cling to that fading warmth, she was met only with her husband's colder sneer.