She wondered what the other woman was like, she thought it must be someone at work, he texted her when he thought she wasn't watching, when he went to the toilet he took his phone with him, and all the time it was unattended it was turned off and pin code protected, "So that we don't get bothered by work, love" he'd explained.
About five months ago there had been attentive tender love making, at the time she'd been lulled by it's nature into thinking he wanted the same things that she did; on a high she was almost swept away by the idea and allowed it to happen more often than usual.
But two weeks ago he'd come back from a work meeting abroad, with the end of his cock rubbed sore; claiming that he'd slept funny on a fake leather sofa that stuck to him. She'd asked several questions, wondering what he would tell her next, but didn't push too far; she didn't want to have things out in the open and have something said that couldn't be unsaid. Swallowing down the hurt, the realisation that time she'd cherished thinking they had the same goals was nothing more than guilt sex on his part, but the silver lining was that with it he'd given her the baby she so ached for, and swollen with proof of his "love" he would not leave her now.
But all the same, she wondered what the other woman was like.