My Husband Hated Me After Childbirth, so I Slept With His Father

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 f*****g loose," he spat, his voice thick with disgust. "Plunging into you feels like a pile of cotton. Zero f*****g 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. He rolled off the bed, yanking on his sleep pants without a backward glance. "Dylan... I'll do better..." Her voice trembled as she grabbed his arm, tears brimming in her eyes. "The doctor said... Twin births need more time. It's only been..." "Four months isn't enough?" Dylan shook her off viciously, his eyes gleaming with malice. "You're gaping like a worn-out rag down there. I'd get more satisfaction j*********f. Know what it felt like? f*****g a waterlogged lump of dough—completely f*****g dead." Buttoning his shirt with sharp motions, Dylan delivered the final blow. "See my dad tomorrow. He's a top gynecologist who's examined hundreds of women like you. Don't give me that pitiful act. You think I'd even want to touch you?" The door slammed shut with a deafening sound. Elisa was left alone in the room. She curled up in the tangled sheets, silent tears soaking the pillow. The man who once whispered "I love you forever" now wore only a face of vicious cruelty. She remembered how, before marriage, he'd knelt between her legs, reverently kissing her p***y like a pilgrim, calling it a treasure. Now, he wouldn't even touch her. After a long while, Elisa finally stepped barefoot onto the floor and faced the mirror. The woman in the mirror still had a delicate figure—a slender waist and breasts swollen from breastfeeding. But when she parted her legs slightly and saw the once-pink, taut flesh now looser and darker, her tears spilled over. She bit her lip hard to silence her sobs. Memories of their passion flashed through her mind—back when Dylan would groan about how tight she was. Now, only icy disgust remained. She knew how humiliating it would be to be examined by Arthur Cooper, Dylan's father, but to save her marriage, she had no choice. Arthur was a respected gynecologist in the city. At fifty, he maintained a refined elegance, with patients seeking his expertise daily. Elisa told herself, 'This is just a medical visit, no different from going to the hospital. It's just a routine exam.' However, when she changed into her nightgown and stood barefoot outside his study, her legs refused to move. From inside came the faint rustle of pages and a man's quiet cough. Unbidden images flooded Elisa's mind—the tall, well-built fifty-year-old with gold-framed glasses, his practiced hands slowly parting her legs, examining inch by inch her most vulnerable, most intimate place... A sudden heat surged from within, leaving a damp patch on her nightgown. Elisa's face turned as pale as paper in an instant. 'Am I actually having a physical reaction to Arthur?' Shame, revulsion, and self-hatred crashed over her like a drowning tide. She recoiled abruptly, desperate to flee the scene and never face such absurd thoughts again. But the moment she turned, the study door clicked open from inside. Arthur stood in the doorway wearing dark gray loungewear, two buttons carelessly undone at the collar to reveal the firm contours of his chest. Nearly six-foot-one, his shoulders remained broad and straight even at fifty. Behind his gold-wire glasses, his deep-set eyes held gentle warmth, his lips curving in a perfectly measured smile of concern. "Elisa?" His voice was deep and magnetic, mellow as vintage liquor. "Dylan just called. He mentioned your postpartum recovery isn't going well and asked me to examine you." Elisa shrank back in flustered panic, the movement causing her nightgown's hem to ride up and expose her slender, pale thighs. She locked her legs together, her voice shaking so badly it was barely audible. "Dad, I'm fine. Really... It's too late, I shouldn't trouble you." Arthur's gaze lingered on her face, seeming to pierce through all her resistance and shame without a trace of judgment. His smile remained gentle, his voice dripping with tenderness yet carrying insistence. "There's no need to be afraid. I treat dozens of patients with postpartum laxity daily. This is a woman's most vulnerable moment. I understand that. And I won't hurt you." He stepped aside, his smiling eyes seeming to swallow her whole as he murmured, "Come in. Shut the door after you."