Something was wrong. It started with the couple down the street—the Johnsons, who'd been together for 25 years, high school sweethearts turned empty-nesters. One morning, Mr. Johnson packed his bags and left for a younger woman he'd met at a coffee shop. The neighborhood buzzed with gossip: "He just up and left? After all that time?" Then it spread. Social media exploded with stories—couples breaking up after decades, marriages dissolving like sugar in rain. Hashtags like #SuddenSplit and #MidlifeMadness trended, filled with heartbroken posts: "My husband of 18 years left for his 'new muse'—a 25-year-old barista!" Even celebrities, presidents, and prime ministers weren't immune. The U.S. President announced a divorce, citing "irreconcilable differences" after meeting a young aide. The British Prime Minister followed suit, his wife left devastated as he paraded a glamorous assistant. All cases involved men meeting younger, more attractive women—charming, mysterious, irresistible. It couldn't be Valentina, could it? She was just one woman. But the pattern was eerie, like a ripple from a stone thrown in a pond.
It had been one week since Dad invited us to his new home with Valentina—one week since I tried to kiss her. The memory haunted me: her soft lips brushing mine in that accidental (or was it?) moment, her emerald eyes locking with mine like infinite forests pulling me in. Guilt gnawed at me constantly. Elena and I hadn't been intimate since—her coldness a wall I couldn't breach. Things we used to do together—morning coffee chats, evening patrols, even simple grocery runs—we no longer did. She'd patrol alone, come home late, shower without inviting me, and sleep with her back turned. "I'm tired," she'd say, voice flat. The house felt empty, our bed a battlefield of unspoken words.
I went food shopping alone for once—a lot on my mind. The supermarket was mundane: fluorescent lights, carts rattling, shoppers milling. I wandered the aisles, list in hand—milk, eggs, pasta—trying to distract from the turmoil. That's when I saw her. At first, I thought it was Elena—the resemblance was striking. Same face structure, high cheekbones, full lips; same bronze skin complexion glowing under the store lights; same hourglass body with curves that turned heads. But she was younger—mid-20s, perhaps—taller by a few inches, curvier in the hips and bust, her stomach flatter, toned like a fitness model. She wore yoga pants and a crop top, accentuating everything, her long raven hair tied in a ponytail.
She caught me staring—warm brown eyes meeting mine, a small smile playing on her lips. "Excuse me," she said, voice light and melodic, "could you help me find something? I'm new to town and this place is a maze."
I couldn't speak at first—just stared into those warm brown eyes, like pools of chocolate drawing me in. My mind raced: forbidden thoughts bubbling. Was she more suitable than Elena? Younger, taller, curvier—given the situation with Elena, the coldness... it made sense. But I rejected it instantly—guilt slamming back. Elena was my everything. "Uh... sure," I stammered, snapping out of the daydream. "What do you need?"
"Shampoo and haircare section? I can't find it anywhere."
I led her—small talk flowing easily. "I'm Alex. You said you're new?"
"Elaine," she replied, smiling brighter. "Yeah, just moved here for work. Graphic design gig. How about you? Local?"
"Born and raised. Welcome to the neighborhood."
We reached the aisle—she picked up a bottle, reading the label. "Thanks. You're a lifesaver. Mind if I get your number? In case I need more 'local tips'?" Her eyes twinkled—innocent, but with a hint of something more.
"I... I'm in a relationship," I said, but my hands moved on their own—pulling out my phone, typing her number as she recited it. I don't remember what happened next—just saving it as "Elaine New" and saying goodbye shortly after. I finished shopping in a daze, mind reeling. What the fuck was that? Again? First Valentina, now Elaine? Guilt crushed me—I couldn't look Elena in the face when I got home. She wasn't too keen on talking anyway—cold shoulder all week.
For some reason, I thought the only person who could possibly understand this might be Dad. I called him—told him I wanted to speak. "Come over," he said. "Valentina's here too, but we can talk."
As I arrived at the house, I was shocked at what I heard. My parents obviously had sex—it's the reason I'm here. But as I got older, they were discreet; I never heard them once. A massive contrast to what echoed from the open window: pounding slaps of flesh hitting flesh, Valentina moaning like a siren, Dad grunting with effort. They were having animalistic sex. "Fuck me harder, babe!" Valentina commanded, her voice singing through the air—light, melodic, arousing. My dick got rock hard hearing her moans—traitorous, unwanted. "Cum deep in my pussy... or on my face!" Dad's grunts intensified, the bedframe slamming like thunder.
I waited in the car—sent Dad a text: "Outside." I couldn't listen anymore, but it made my mind wander. I visualized me being the one fucking Valentina—thrusting passionately, her curves under my hands, her moans for me. 15 minutes later, he replied: "Sorry 😈."
I just thought: WTF, Dad? You're in your early 40s, acting like a lovestruck teenager.
As I entered the house, both Valentina and Dad were in dressing gowns—the scent of sex hugging the air, along with Dad's look of shame and pride. "Alex... good to see you," he said, voice rough. "Valentina, give us a minute?"
She smiled—eyes locking with mine. "Of course." She left for the kitchen, hips swaying.
I told him about the challenges Elena and I were facing—that I met someone younger who resembled her, I was conflicted. "It's like... I don't know what's happening to me."
Dad listened, then sighed. "Follow your heart, son. Life's short. Valentina... she changed everything for me."
"That's it?"
He nodded, yawning. "I'm tired... going to bed. Think about it."
I wasn't surprised—based on what I'd heard, how hard he'd fucked her.
Valentina kissed him—saying she'd be up soon. I knew it was wrong, but I was curious; I wanted to speak to Valentina alone. She smiled at me as Dad left. "Sit, Alex. Want some tea?"
"Sure."
We sat—her dressing gown loose, hinting at curves beneath. "You heard me and your father, didn't you?"
I tried to act like I didn't—but she knew, her emerald eyes reading me like an open book. "It's okay. Rather than be ashamed... it excites me."
Suddenly, my phone rang—Elena. Valentina glanced. "Ignore it."
I did—letting it go to voicemail. She asked, "Did you like what you heard? Did it arouse you?"
I tried to deny it—"No... I—" but she read me easily, smiling wider.
"Be honest, Alex. I saw how you looked at me last week. That kiss... accidental?"
My face burned. "I... don't know."
She leaned forward—her dressing gown slipping slightly. "It's natural. You're young, strong. And I... see you."
The air thickened. She asked again, "Did it arouse you?"
"Yes," I admitted, voice low.
"Good." She undid her dressing gown halfway—revealing the most perfect tits I'd ever seen: full, round, nipples pink and hard, skin flawless. My heart pounded in my chest; I couldn't speak, just stared.
"Touch them," she said, voice commanding yet soothing.
My hands wandered—reaching out, fingers brushing her soft skin, cupping one breast. Suddenly, a strong vibration—a text from Elena: "Where are you?"
It snapped me back. "I should go," I said, pulling away.
She did her dressing gown back up—disappointed but smiling. "Sure. Remember, your dad will always be here for you. And I definitely am too." She winked.
Shortly after, I left—image of her perfect tits burned in my head, and between them, a beautiful necklace with a golden stone. I thought to myself, I'm sure I've seen that necklace before, but put it to the back of my mind. I had to face Elena—who was pissed. Was this fair to her? To have feelings for others, to lie, to trick her? No. It wasn't.
When I got back, she was waiting—arms crossed. "Where were you?"
"Out... thinking."
She nodded—cold. "Okay."
One week since the dinner with Dad and Valentina—one week since I tried to kiss her. Elena and I hadn't been intimate since; she was cold to me. It didn't seem fair to her my mind filled my lust for other women, my heart not only for her. I decided to end our relationship that night. It killed me doing to tears falling from my eyes, but Elena deserved someone fully committed to her not what I had become. I could tell it hurt her too but she simply agreed not wanting to show me any emotion. I move back next door with my mum. That night we went out separate ways. Two hearts shattered into pieces.