Page 37 of Choosing Hope
I squeeze my eyes closed. It’s hard to discuss this with Nicky. She knows most of my history with Spencer, but not all.
Spencer’s always preferred me not to share the details of his and Carlo’s intimacy, so I never have. But because I’ve withheld this critical detail, sometimes it’s hard to give her the complete picture.
“I know what you’ll say, but I’m not ready to leave him yet.”
“Soph, I’d never tell you to leave him. Well, unless he hurt you physically. But I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t remind you to consider a future without him.”
The sob building in my throat escapes unexpectedly.
“I’m scared shitless that you’ll stay until he’s killed all your sparkle. I realize you love him, and I’ve seen the way he is with you. He loves you too, but he’s draining you at the moment, and I hate him for it.”
Her words are making things worse, but I can’t argue with her logic; she’s right.
“I know,” I reluctantly admit.
“It’s time to tell him how you feel about these clubs, Sophie. If he’s not willing to stop, I think you should consider how you’d react if, in the future, your daughter was in the same situation. Would you encourageherto stay?”
That’s a low blow. The thought of Lily going through this makes me weak, and Nicky knows it. But I stay mute. My words catch in my throat.
“If you are unable to speak to Spencer, call Carlo. Tell him what’s going on, and how this is affecting you.” I slam my eyes closed. For weeks, the temptation to call Carlo has been taunting me, but after myoutburst when I was pregnant, the result of which not only ended our sexual relationship but effectively destroyed his relationship with Spencer. I don’t feel able to ask him.
Yet, without betraying my husband’s confidence, I can’t explain the sensitivity of all this to Nicky.
Tears of sadness and frustration leak from my eyes.
“I’ll try to speak to Spence,” I assure her, fighting to keep my voice even.
“Keep me informed of progress.” She pauses. “And Soph if there’s anything I can do, anytime, I’m always here for you. You’re aware of that, right?”
“Yes, thanks, Nicky,” I choke out, needing to get off the phone so that she doesn’t hear my heart-wrenching sobs.
Picking up the couch cushion, I hug it.
Calling Nicky was a mistake. Through no fault of her own, she’s made me feel so much worse.
I sit back, torturing myself with the same question I ask every day: where did my marriage go wrong?
When the doctor told me I was pregnant, I wasn’t certain who the father was.
I felt like such a whore.
Carlo had been over on several consecutive weekends during the August that I conceived our child. He and Spencer were still taking full advantage of their freedom in the club, although these events were becoming less appealing to me. They still delighted in coming home to reenact their evenings.
When I asked the doctor of my likely conception date, the bottom fell out of my world.
“On or around August 23rd,” he said.
The night of the 23rdwas epic.
It was the night that Carlo and I punished Spencer. We tied him to the chair, a wanking device slid over his cock and forced him to watch as Carlo made love to me from every position possible. If Spencer climaxed, he wouldn’t get to join us.
However, if Spencer waited until after Carlo ejaculated—highly unlikely; that man has the willpower of a Shaolin monk—he could choose where he orgasmed.
Suffice to say, only Carlo came inside me that night.
A few weeks after our horrendous argument, I secretly went back to the doctor for a paternity test.
Trying to get the DNA from Spencer was a nightmare. Ideally the lab wanted a cheek swab, but once I explained the result wasn’t required for court, simply for my own peace of mind, they suggested they could try a recently used toothbrush combined with a razor head that only Spencer had used.
