Sex after children

She sat on the cold floor of the hallway and realized that her greatest loss wasn’t the temporary absence of her husband from the apartment. It was his constant absence from the woman she used to be. And the most terrible thought was that that woman might have disappeared forever. And Italy, and atomic sex, and passionate looks remained in another dimension, the door to which had slammed shut the day two lines appeared on the test.

And the most awful thing was that, looking at her sleeping daughter, she couldn’t say she would regret it, even knowing the price she had paid. That thought made her guilt toward her husband even more unbearable.

Chapter 6: The Wrong Way Out

The day stretched on endlessly, like a poorly wound film reel stuck on the same frame. Anna paced the apartment, unable to find a place for herself. Thoughts of Alex’s impending evening visit were driving her crazy. He would come. See her. What would she say to him? How would she look? Could she put on the mask of normalcy again, like she had with the guests?

But with guests, it was easier. They could be deceived with a smile, tea, and small talk. Him, she couldn’t deceive. He saw right through her. He could smell her falseness a mile away.

The words of his message – “Don’t wait up” – burned her soul. They sounded like a verdict. Like a final break. He didn’t want her to wait for him. He wasn’t coming to her. He was coming for a thing. A charger. An object. The object was more important than her expectation.

By evening, her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. She was ready to burst into tears or scream at the slightest wrong sound. Sofia, sensing her tension, was fussier than usual and wouldn’t fall asleep easily. Rocking her, Anna herself almost fell asleep on her feet from exhaustion and emotional drain.

And then, in her desperately searching mind, a thought was born. A terrible, desperate, the-only-possible thought. If she couldn’t give him what he truly wanted… Maybe she could simulate it? Pretend. Just lie down and pretend. Endure it. Like enduring a painful procedure. It would be over faster, and everything would be okay. He would get what he was asking for. His male pride would be healed. And she… she would just close her eyes and think of something else. The weather. The shopping list. That she mustn’t forget to buy new diapers.

It was a horrible, humiliating idea. But it seemed like the only chance to stop the collapse. To pay this price to save the family. So he wouldn’t leave for good.

The decision, made in desperation, brought her a strange, painful relief. Now there was a plan. Action. No need to think, to feel. She just had to perform.

She started watching the clock again. Every minute pressed on her temples. She took a shower, put on not sweatpants but a clean, soft cotton dress. Not sexy, but not ascetic either. Neutral. She even applied a bit of mascara to hide the signs of sleeplessness but then wiped it off with a tissue – it would look like too obvious a signal, an attempt to seduce, and she didn’t want to seduce. She wanted… to pay a debt.