Page 1 of Insatiable

Chapter One

I jolted awake, my chest throbbing with an unbearable ache. Instinctively, I pressed a hand against my breasts, full and heavy with tension. A groan escaped me as I squinted at the clock on my nightstand—4:17 a.m. Again.

“Men couldn’t handle this for a day,” I muttered under my breath. Sweat clung to me, my pajamas sticking to my body, making everything worse. With a frustrated sigh, I threw off the covers and stared up at the ceiling, swallowed by the dark.

The ache had become a nightly visitor, sometimes sharp, sometimes heavy, and tonight it lingered like a dull throb. I tried to ignore it, breathe through it, but my body refused to cooperate. The pressure was building and I knew I had no choice but to give in.

I sighed and sat up. The apartment felt too quiet. The only sounds were the low hum of the old fridge and the distant cars outside—just enough to remind me I wasn’t stuck in a tomb. I hated living alone. I wasn’t built for it. Growing up in the South, in a house that always felt too small for how many people were in it, there was never a quiet moment. Cousins sleeping on the couch, siblings arguing over the TV, and mama shouting for us to set the table. We weren’t rich, but my parents made sure our home was full—loud, chaotic, and alive in a way money couldn’t buy.

But now… it was just me. Alone. This apartment didn’t even feel like mine. It was cold, unfamiliar—like I was squatting in someone else’s life, waiting for the next move. If my mama knew I was living in the city without a husband, she’d go full“Oh Lord, have mercy!”on me. I hadn’t told her what happened. How could I? She was so happy on my wedding day. I didn’t want to shatter that illusion. That’s why none of my family knew the truth.

Pushing the thoughts aside, I rubbed my temples and reached for the lamp, flicking it on. My eyes landed on the breast pump sitting on the nightstand, right where I had left it. I picked it up, the plastic cool in my hands—something I barely noticed anymore. It was just part of the routine now. I set it up without thinking, attached it to my breasts, and turned it on. The first pull was sharp, making me wince, but I knew it would ease up after a few minutes, like it always did. But the heartache—thatnever went away. I lay back, closed my eyes, and let the machine do its work.

Every night, the breast pump reminded me of what I had lost. I bought it when I was still pregnant, still hopeful, thinking I would need it for the baby. I imagined myself sitting in a nursery, feeding my child and rocking them to sleep. I had dreams—stupid ones—where Phoenix, my husband, would be there, smiling, telling me how great everything would be. But Phoenix never liked being part of that dream.

In the early days of our marriage, Phoenix loved me like I was the only person in the world. I felt untouchable, like we were in our own little bubble. He took me everywhere—dinners, business meetings, events. He thrived in those spaces, and people adored him. Just a smile from him could light up a room, and everyone hung on his every word. I was always by his side,but just out of place enough to feel it, like I didn’t quite belong. Still, I didn’t mind.

My friends—well, some of them—never missed a chance to remind me how lucky I was to be with someone like Phoenix. With my average looks and soft, round body, they could hardly believe it—and neither could I, if I’m honest. I never really understood why he chose me, why he married me when so many women were lining up for his attention. But I was just happy to be the one he picked. In some way, I tied my worth to him, as if being loved by him made me worthy, like I couldn’t stand on my own without his approval.

But when I got pregnant at thirty-seven, everything changed. It was a risky pregnancy, but I was happy. He, on the other hand, started pulling away, little by little. At first, he was distant—canceling plans, making excuses not to be around. Then, I swear, he began to resent me. I could feel it. He stopped taking me anywhere, especially once I started showing. It only got worse from there. He wouldn’t even look at me most days. He would head out for work or social events and leave me at home without saying a word. And when I asked why, he’d brush it off, saying things like, “You’d be uncomfortable,” or “It’s just not your scene right now.” Like being pregnant somehow made me invisible. But I wasn’t stupid. I knew what it really was—he didn’t want to be seen with me anymore. Not with the weight gain, the swollen ankles, the belly. I wasn’t the woman he could show off anymore. I didn’t fit into his polished, perfect life.

But I still hoped for the best—that once the baby came, Phoenix would love me again, and love the baby. We’d be a happy family. I clung to that, even when everything else was crumbling. But I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known what he was capable of.

By the time I hit my third trimester, I couldn’t shake the feeling he was cheating. At first, I told myself it was just hormones, that I was being paranoid. But deep down, I knew. The way he stayed out later, his phone always on silent, how he’d avoid eye contact when I asked where he’d been. It wasn’t in my head—it was real. The suspicion kept eating at me, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

It wasn’t until I found his phone that everything clicked. All the lies, the nights he left me alone, the cold way he looked at me like I didn’t even exist—it was all there. The truth staring back at me from the screen, undeniable.

He had left his phone on the kitchen counter, like he didn’t care if I found it. Maybe he wanted me to. My fingers shook as I reached for the— phone, a knot twisting in my stomach, warning me to leave it alone. But I couldn’t—I had to know. I unlocked it, scrolled past the business emails, past the usual messages, until I saw them. The pictures.

Her. A woman I knew all too well.

She was laughing, sitting in his car, legs crossed, hair perfect like she didn’t have a care in the world. They were at a restaurant I’d never even heard of—a place he never took me. But it wasn’t just that. I had found the messages, the ones on WhatsApp. The first ones were just close-ups—body parts, sent to him like they were some kind of invitation. Her skin, her curves. I couldn’t stop scrolling. Then came the pictures of her smiling, all dressed up in the same kind of dress I used to wear for him, the kind I knew he liked. And there he was, giving her the moments that were once mine, like I was nothing but a shadow now.

My hands shook as I scrolled through more pictures—more of her. She smiled in every one, as if she had everything shecould ever want. And she did. She had my life. My husband. Everything I thought was mine.

I tried to tell myself maybe these were from before us, that this was all in the past. But then I saw the dates. They hit me like a punch to the gut. These weren’t old. They were recent—taken while I was pregnant, while I was carrying his child. All this time, I’d been growing our family, and he’d been with her.

“Phoenix!” I shouted, my voice breaking, cracking with everything I was trying to hold back. He didn’t rush in. He didn’t come running. He walked in, calm and slow, Like none of it mattered.

“What is it?” he asked, not even bothering to look up from the papers in his hand.

I held up the phone, the pictures glowing, taunting me. “What the hell is this?”

He sighed and looked at me like I was being dramatic, like I had caught him in something trivial. “Put the phone down, Rose.”

“Put the phone down?” I said, my voice trembling, barely holding back the storm brewing inside me. “You don’t even care, do you?”

He shrugged, barely glancing at me, then raised an eyebrow like my anger was amusing to him. A small chuckle escaped him. “You were going to find out sooner or later.”

Was this a joke to him?I stood there, frozen, the silence between us stretching too long. No denial. No apology. Just the truth, dropped like it was nothing. Likewewere nothing.

I blinked, trying to process it, but the anger hit me first, then the sadness, like a wave I couldn’t stop. My mind raced, trying to catch up with what my heart already knew.

You’ve been cheating on me!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “While I’m pregnant. Withyourbaby.”

His eyes narrowed, cold and hard. “Don’t you dare raise your voice at me, Rose,” he barked. Then, with a sneer, he added, “What did you expect? Look at yourself... You’re a whale. This is pathetic.”

The words hit like a slap. There wasn’t even a hint of regret in his voice—just disgust.

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