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

On the 129th night after giving birth, Elisa Bennet finally mustered the courage to try to reclaim the intimacy she and her husband had once shared. The bedroom lights were dimmed to a sultry, suggestive glow. Wearing the black lace lingerie that had once made her husband Dylan Cooper utterly captivated during their honeymoon, Elisa lay nervously on the sheets that faintly carried the scent of perfume. Over the past four months, she had desperately done Kegel exercises every single day, applied expensive firming creams, all for this one night—to rekindle the passion in her marriage. When Dylan pushed open the bedroom door reeking of alcohol, Elisa bit her lower lip and took the initiative, wrapping her arms around his waist. For a few fleeting seconds, Dylan did respond. He pressed himself onto her, his ragged breath sweeping across her collarbone. Elisa closed her eyes, believing she had finally endured the icy cold shoulder that had plagued her postpartum life. Yet the moment he truly entered her, Dylan's movements came to an abrupt halt. As if he had touched something utterly disappointing, he pulled back sharply, his brows furrowing tightly together. "Dylan?" Elisa's heart plummeted instantly, her voice laced with a barely perceptible tremor. "What's wrong?" "Too loose," Dylan said those words coldly, making no effort to hide the disappointment and irritation in his tone. He grabbed the pajama pants beside him and pulled them on, refusing to spare her even a single glance. "It's an absolute disaster. Elisa, I can't feel any tightness at all. Honestly, this completely kills the mood for me." Those words landed like a resounding slap across Elisa's face. She instinctively pulled the blanket over herself, her eyes reddening in an instant. "The doctor said... recovering from a natural birth with twins takes more time. Dylan, if you would just give me a little more patience—" "Four months isn't enough?" Dylan turned around, looking down at her condescendingly, his eyes holding nothing but cold indifference. "Go see my father. He's the most renowned gynecology expert in the entire city. He's seen countless cases of postpartum looseness like yours. Have him prescribe you some medication or arrange physical therapy. Stop looking at me with those pitiful eyes." With that, he grabbed his car keys and stormed out, slamming the door behind him without a backward glance. The sound of the door crashing shut echoed through the empty villa. Elisa curled up on the rumpled bed, tears silently soaking the pillow. The man who had once kissed her fingertips at their wedding and sworn to cherish her forever now regarded her as nothing more than damaged goods in need of "factory repair." After some time, she slipped barefoot out of bed and stood before the full-length mirror. The woman in the mirror still had a slender waist and curves made fuller by breastfeeding. But when her gaze fell upon her most intimate part, an uncontrollable wave of self-loathing submerged her like a tide. To salvage this crumbling marriage, it seemed she had no other choice. Arthur Cooper, Dylan's father, was the city's most esteemed gynecologist. At fifty, he still maintained an astonishing physique, exuding captivating mature charm in his every gesture. Elisa kept reassuring herself in her mind: *This is just an ordinary medical consultation. I am his patient, nothing more.* And yet, when she changed into a conservative long silk robe and stood outside the door of the spacious vintage study on the second floor, her legs felt as heavy as lead, unable to take that step forward. A warm amber glow seeped through the c***k beneath the door. From inside came the faint rustle of turning pages and the man's deep cough. The thought of that tall, imposing elder with his gold-rimmed glasses—about to use those professional hands that had examined countless women to probe inch by inch her most vulnerable, most secret places—made Elisa's breathing suddenly quicken. An indescribable, shameful heat inexplicably rose from her lower abdomen. *God, what am I thinking? He's Dylan's father!* A powerful sense of shame made her step back abruptly, wanting to flee this dangerous place immediately. But the moment she turned around, the study door clicked softly and was pulled open from the inside. Arthur stood at the doorway. He wore a dark gray premium loungewear, the collar casually left unbuttoned by two buttons, faintly revealing the contour of his solid, full pectorals. Standing at nearly six foot one, even simply standing still, he exuded an intense, oppressive presence. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, those deep eyes regarded her with calm composure. There was none of the flippant coldness Dylan possessed—only an irresistible sense of acceptance and gentleness. "Elisa?" His voice was low and magnetic, like whiskey aged for years in oak barrels. "Dylan sent me a message earlier. He said you've encountered some difficulties with postpartum recovery and asked me to take a look." Elisa twisted the sash of her robe in frantic agitation, her voice faint as a whisper from sheer embarrassment. "Dad... I'm fine. It's too late. I shouldn't be disturbing you." Arthur's gaze lingered for a moment on her faintly flushed cheeks, and the corner of his lips curved into a deeply reassuring smile. He didn't expose her unease, merely saying in a gentle tone that brooked no refusal: "There's no need to feel embarrassed, Elisa. In a doctor's eyes, this is simply a very ordinary physiological issue. After bringing life into this world, a woman deserves more care and understanding, not less." He stepped aside, clearing the path into the study, his gaze so profound it seemed capable of drawing her entire being inside. "Come in. And remember to close the door behind you."