When the Smoke Cleared

[Infidelity]

During our living room meeting, background music was playing. The candles created a lovely atmosphere. She wore a revealing lingerie set. I wore the boxers and bow that she presented to me. A long silence stretched between us as our eyes met. Her touch was soft. That's all that occurred this evening. We had a deal. Refrain from sexual activity for one month.

Two glasses and a bottle remained where Rachel left them. My eyes ‌returned to her. It had been thirty days. My friends all divorced, and their losses were on my mind when I awoke the next morning beside Rachel. I found neither of my predicaments with Danielle or Rachel, one that I wanted to pursue. 

Rachel's with me now. The possibility of constant conflict with Danielle lingered in my thoughts. I relied on Rachel; I required her emotional support and help. Her love shown to me allowed me to let her take me on the living room couch. The thirty-day abstention from physical touch had ended, and we were ecstatic about it. We enjoyed savouring one another. 

Rachel loved me, and loving her was the least I could do to show my appreciation. Deep down, I think she knew about me not wanting to leave Danielle. Rachel never talked about the future with me in the picture. She mentioned things she’d like to do. “I think I’ll try that one day. Wouldn’t that be ‌great? Me, Doug, doing something like that all by my lonesome?” 

“Yes, Rachel. I can see you doing that.” I’d smile, and we’d change the subject about something meaningless since we didn’t want to explore the rest of what that meant for us. “I don’t think we should talk about the future anymore, Doug. What do you think? We’ve only got tonight and tomorrow,” Rachel would say. 

“I agree,” I’d say. “We should stay on track while we’re together because we know why we’ve come together.”

"Don't worry, after you're gone, only occasional memories will remain. That’ll be ‌enough,” Rachel assured me. 

To be honest‌, I didn’t understand what she meant by that statement. Her meaning became clear. And I learned how much she loved me. It came clear to me only years afterward when she contacted me again, and I understood the accurate picture of her sacrifice. Each syllable felt like a shard of glass in my chest, the unspoken grief heavy in the silence that followed my confession. She listened and consoled me. She understood how tough life was for us as a couple without kids was in our marriage. 

Rachel’s answers were always practical as she remained calm and spoke of options Danielle and I could pursue. My hands trembled, clutching at the fading hope that Rachel and I reuniting after 30 days would mend our broken connection. I wanted her for selfish reasons and not for a life partner.

   Our clothes came off, followed by relentless kisses. Our bodies met, and I entered her. Sweat on her backside became noticeable to me after she moved from muladhara to an upward-facing dog that ended in a post-coital corpse pose. I knew, after dinner, we would have another crack at it since we had the next two nights to get it out of our systems. We smiled, and as the sweat dripped off us, we drank water first, and then I opened the wine and we sipped it. 

The bedroom curtains stirred in the cool night air from the desert. Rachel rolled her hips ‌while on top of me, and her long, curly hair brushed my chest. Sweat dripped from the tip of her nose onto my neck when she leaned down and kissed my cheeks and lips. As we moved together ‌and connected, I forgot about Danielle. I ran my fingertips over her back, down to her hips and buttocks. Our auras blended, mine and hers, as I lifted my patch. We drank water and headed to the kitchen for dinner. 

I pushed through my work, concentrating on results during Rachel's absence. I longed to embrace my wife, Danielle, too. My mind was in flux. It wouldn’t help me now, though. My reckless and pointless actions left me reliant on Rachel. I realized her mistake and my attraction to her was physical, and I knew I didn't have to be there. But I couldn’t stop myself.

I restored my life and love for my wife; my self-belief improved. Rachel was a sex partner who taught me yoga sex and turned me on ‌in bed like no other lady I’d ever met. For life, however, she wasn’t my type at all. She had opinions that aggravated me. Her self-sufficiency contrasted with my desperate need for her validation, despite our pretence. 

Somehow, I knew she wanted more from me than I could provide. I never wanted to leave Danielle. Yet when Rachel and I met, she thought we got together because I wanted to leave Danielle. Our reason for Rachel and me getting together—believing we would live together and share life responsibilities—was her belief, not mine. I never gave a reason to doubt it because I wanted the sex and the freedom to explore what I missed from home without fear of being outed. I knew that wasn’t Rachel’s style. Rachel didn’t ask me to make choices. She assumed I’d come when I was ready to live with her

With the smoke from Sunday afternoon gone, I returned home to Danielle. Rachel watched me go with a big smile. I waved goodbye, believing I wouldn't see her again. Little did she know, with her unsuspecting happiness at anticipating our next encounter. 

Everything changed the day Rachel called me at work. She announced, “Doug? I’m calling because I can’t see you anymore. I’m pregnant, but the baby’s not yours, and I’m keeping the baby.” My ears heard her, but my heart raced, and a sickened stomach took over. I vomited in the garbage pail as my nerves got the best of me. I couldn’t believe she was screwing me and someone else together. She always made me feel like I was number one. If I could do it, why couldn't she?  

“We won’t see one another again?” I repeated.

“That’s right. That’s what I mean,” she said, coldness to her voice. 

“You told me you couldn’t get pregnant,” I retorted. 

“I know, it’s the strangest thing, but here I am, pregnant,” she laughed, her voice uneasy. 

“Who is the father? May I ask?” 

“No, you may not. It’s none of your business. And don’t come around like a teenage sick boy stalking me either. It’s over. Got it?” 

“I understand,” I said and hung up. After that, I stopped thinking about Rachel and focused on Danielle. Danielle and I were making a difficult situation work because neither of us wanted to divorce. After months passed, our marriage was in the best spot ever, and I wasn’t stepping out every other weekend to fill someone else’s bucket elsewhere. 

Until I received the phone call.

“Hello, Mr. Rayone?”

“Yes, this is he.” 

 “I’m Yvette Lafraye. I’m calling from Victoria Hospital. Rachel Sampson has you listed as her next of kin.” 

“Yes, I know Rachel. She does? What’s happened?” 

“I’m calling about your son. Rachel didn’t survive the delivery. You can come with your identification and fill out the paperwork and then take him home.” My mouth fell open.  

I thought about what I would tell Danielle about the baby—the truth wasn’t an option.