Daddy Helps When Husband’s Away Chapter 07
Mason’s tenderness left me at a loss, and something like guilt began to creep in beneath it.
I must have been silent too long, because Mason noticed something was off.
“Sophia? What’s wrong, baby?”
In the end, I chose to bury it.
I pulled a thin, uneven smile and pressed my face into Mason’s chest.
“Nothing, honey. Just… next time let’s book a woman. Even if it’s Ethan, I’m not quite comfortable.”
Mason laughed, amused by me. He kissed the top of my head.
“Oh, my silly girl. He’s family. But all right. Whatever you want.”
Whatever you want.
Those words twisted like a small blade in my chest.
Ethan’s pull was almost impossible to resist.
That thrill of being noticed by him — something I had never felt before — had already burned itself into me.
I even found myself missing the tremor in his voice when he said Daddy’s here against my ear.
Mason didn’t sense any of it. He was in the living room, single-mindedly playing with Liam.
I deliberately changed into a wine-red silk nightgown. Something Mason had given me last Christmas.
Not Ethan. I wanted Mason with me tonight.
I peeked through the bedroom door and shot him a look.
Once Liam was asleep, Mason came into the bedroom without wasting a second and pulled me into his arms.
Mason’s kisses were hot but rushed.
“God, I’ve missed you, Soph…”
And then —
“Waaah—!”
Liam, outside, let out a full-lunged wail.
Mason gave a resigned sigh, pressed a hurried kiss to my cheek, and rolled out of bed.
“I’ll go check, baby. Right back.”
Right back.
He never came back.
I lay there waiting for over half an hour.
Through the crack in the door, I saw Mason in the rocking chair in the living room, Liam in his arms, both of them fast asleep.
Warm. Beautiful.
And it left me alone in that bed, burning down to ashes with disappointment.
I clutched the blanket to me, and the tears came without my permission.
In the black, private darkness of my own bed, I cried, for the first time, over another man.
I even dreamed of Ethan. And when I woke up, there was an ache that felt unfinished.
That loss of control frightened me.
I couldn’t go on like this. I had to cut it off.
So I made a point of avoiding him. I begged off family gatherings, using Liam’s age as the excuse.
To my surprise, Ethan didn’t push back at all.
He didn’t reach out. He didn’t drop by. He didn’t send a single text.
As if that afternoon in the bedroom had never happened at all.
Being ignored so completely was worse than being pursued.
The last weekend before my maternity leave ended, Ethan posted in the family chat:
> Brunch at my place this Sunday. I miss my grandson. Don’t say no.
Mason came up behind me and rested his chin on my shoulder.
“We haven’t seen Ethan in weeks. Let’s go, baby.”
There was no way I could refuse.
That morning, I stood in front of my closet for a full half hour, pulling out one dress after another.
The low-cut ones, the ones with slits, the backless ones — I pushed them all aside.
In the end, I picked the most conservative thing I owned: a cream cashmere high-neck dress. Practically airtight.
Ethan lives out on Long Island, in an old Victorian.
The whole drive, my pulse climbed.
Ethan opened the door himself.
He was wearing a dark green wool cardigan over a white shirt, sleeves casually pushed up to his elbows.
He threw his arms wide and gave Mason a bear hug.
“Mason! Get in here!”
Then his gaze slid over to me.
Perfectly natural — the way any normal stepfather would — he draped one arm briefly around my shoulder and brushed a light kiss against my cheek.
“Welcome, sweetheart. It’s been too long.”
Mason took Liam and drifted off to the living room to look at Ethan’s vinyl collection.
That left me and Ethan alone in the kitchen.
He was at the kitchen island, whisking hollandaise. The rotation of his wrist was practiced, effortless.
He didn’t even look up.
“You’ve been avoiding me, Sophia.”
I bit my lip. I couldn’t say a word.
Finally he set the whisk down and looked at me straight on.
“Three weeks, sweetheart. A full three weeks.”
“You want to keep pretending nothing happened? Fine. I’ll play the game with you.”
“But you and I both know—”
He stepped closer, slow.
“—every night, your heart’s been calling out for me.”
I jerked my head up. Tears nearly spilled.
How could he possibly know.
Ethan let out a small laugh and kept advancing until the small of my back hit the edge of the marble island.
Nowhere to go.
He bent down, one hand braced on the island behind me, the other tilting my chin up.
“Look at me, Sophia. Have you been thinking about me?”
“Late at night, with Mason sleeping right beside you—”
“—have you been lying there, wide awake?”
My face flamed up to the tips of my ears.
Because every single word was true.
Late last Wednesday night. Early Friday morning. Even that morning before we left the apartment — I had closed my eyes, over and over, and heard his voice at my ear.
Ethan read all of it in my face.
He leaned in, close to my ear.
“I knew it.”
From the living room, Mason called out.
“Ethan! Liam needs a bottle!”
Ethan stepped back with easy composure.
As though those low words had never happened.
He took a mimosa from the silver tray beside him — already poured — pressed it into my hand, and winked.
“After brunch, sweetheart.”
“I’ll show you the nursery I’ve set up upstairs.”
He added, after a beat:
“And this time, sweetheart…”
“…I’m not going to let you say no.”
—