“Honey, my sweet heart, my good Soph, please don’t leave me again,” Jackson murmured, his actions sudden and fierce like a wild animal.

In that moment, Sophia felt something she hadn’t expected—the pleasure of such intimacy, a sensation she hadn’t experienced before.

Her fair arms, she realized, were draped over Jackson’s neck, though she wasn’t sure when it had happened.

In these rural times, there weren’t many forms of entertainment. When night fell, people shut their doors and lit their lamps, passing the hours with simpler pleasures. As a result, many families had large numbers of children—three or four per household, sometimes more.

At that moment, Gemma was waiting anxiously. It was late, and Jackson’s family hadn’t delivered the promised pork yet. She was impatient. Ignoring the usual restrictions her husband had placed on her, she quickly walked through the village toward Jackson’s house.

Upon entering the yard, she immediately noticed the light spilling out from both the front and back rooms. The door to the main room was slightly ajar, indicating that no one was there yet.

Gemma had never been one to knock when visiting Jackson's home, so she entered directly.

Just as she reached the door, a strange noise came from the back room...

Having been through this before, Gemma knew exactly what was happening inside. Her instincts told her they were involved in some intimate act.

Fearing she might cause an awkward situation by interrupting, she turned to leave but found herself rooted to the spot by the sounds that continued to spill out.

Despite her discomfort, she couldn’t help but feel the need for intimacy herself. It had been half a month since she and her own husband had been together.

With a mix of hesitation and desire, she crouched slightly, peeking into the room through the fabric curtain.

What she saw made her freeze, unable to move for a long moment.

---

Gemma had once mocked Jackson’s wife, calling her foolish for staying with Jackson, a man who treated her cruelly. At that moment, though, Gemma realized how foolish she had been.

She now understood that her own life was far better than any other woman in the village. With a capable man like Jackson, loneliness and emptiness were never concerns.

Jackson didn’t notice the extra visitor outside.

Sophia, her lips swollen and tender from his kisses, bit down hard on his strong arm.

---

Gemma stood there, mesmerized, her heart racing, her feet unsteady. She quickly turned and ran.

Inside, Colt Scott was sitting with his head down, puffing on a pipe and skillfully weaving a wicker basket.

Gemma stood in the doorway, staring at her husband. He wasn’t as tall as Jackson, and his looks were far from striking. What she had witnessed at Jackson’s house made her feel physically ill.

She approached Colt and snatched the half-finished basket from his hands, throwing it aside.

With practiced urgency, she began undoing his belt, her voice strained with need:

“Colt, I want it, now.”

Colt, noticing her desperate, impatient behavior, still couldn’t summon any interest.

Gemma’s hands were fumbling over Colt’s shirt, and in her haze, she muttered,

“Jackson, hurry.”

She had no idea what she was saying.

Colt, fully aware of the situation, was livid. Hearing his wife call for Jackson while they were in bed together, he erupted in fury.

“Who did you just call, you shameless whore?” he snarled, throwing her to the ground.

Gemma, dazed, didn’t realize she had unconsciously called out Jackson’s name.

Colt’s face twisted with rage as he grabbed a bamboo stick and began to strike her.

She screamed and tried to dodge, but even with her efforts, the blows continued.

The noise was so loud that even the neighbors heard. Preston, who had been sleeping, was woken up by the commotion, confused and frightened, crying uncontrollably.

After a long while, Colt, exhausted, threw aside the bamboo stick and spat out,

“Filthy woman, if I ever catch you sneaking over to Jackson’s again, I’ll break your legs.”

Without a second thought, he dragged her by the hair into their room, ignoring her bruises, and yelled,

“Teach you to act like a slut. I’ll kill you, you worthless whore.”

Preston, only four years old, had no idea what was happening. He saw his father stop hitting his mother and, wiping his tears, returned to his little bed to sleep.

----

Gemma, still young, wondered if things would ever change. If Colt kept behaving like this, it was no different than living as a widow.

If she hadn’t had Preston, she would’ve doubted whether her husband was capable of anything at all.

As she thought about this, she began to cry, feeling the weight of her misfortune.

“Why am I so unlucky?” she whispered.

Hidden in the shadows of the yard, Colt, hearing his wife’s words, took another pull from his pipe.

He refused to admit that he wasn’t capable. It was his pride as a man.

Even now, with their son, Colt knew that Preston had been conceived only after he’d gotten his wife drunk and borrowed another man’s seed.

He had watched, helpless, as another man had slept with his wife that night. He could still remember it as if it had happened yesterday, like a thorn in his heart, an old wound that never healed.

And every time he was with his wife, she never experienced the same pleasure. She never made the same sounds as when she was with Jackson.

When she had whispered Jackson’s name earlier, it was like a knife through his heart.

He knew it was his own fault, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear.

The next day, Sophia woke up in Jackson’s arms, exhausted but content. It was the first time since their honeymoon that they had slept so close.

Her face flushed at the memory of the previous night’s events.

Jackson stirred and opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was his wife’s rosy cheeks.

He rolled over and pulled her under him, burying his face in her soft chest.

Sophia’s face turned bright red as she pushed against his broad shoulders and shyly said,

“Stop it.”

But when she looked over at the crib and saw their child, her face drained of color.

It seemed that her daughter hadn’t cried once during the night, which was unusual. Normally, she would wake several times.

“Get up, quickly, check on the baby,” she said, her voice trembling with fear.