He woke to the light invading the room, burning his eyes before he could fully open them. The unmistakable scent of your perfume still lingered in the air, mixing with the messy sheets that partially covered his body.
Instinctively, he turned his head to the side and saw you. You were there, lying on your stomach, your hair spread across the pillow, your breathing calm, oblivious to the chaos he felt.
"Damn it. Again," he ran a hand over his face, trying to fend off the wave of guilt that threatened to swallow him whole. This shouldn't have happened again. But it did. Just like always when he was around you.
He is a married man, with a wife waiting for him at home. And a son. His three-year-old son, who always runs to hug him when he comes home late from work, as if he were the greatest hero in the world.
The image of his smiling son cut him like a knife. He didn't deserve this. None of them did. And yet, every time he told himself it would be the last time, he ended up right here. With you. In your bed.
He stood up cautiously and went to the bathroom.
He watched himself in the mirror. The reflection in the mirror was that of a man he no longer recognized. He washed his face, trying to erase everything. But he knew he would do it again.
"Damn it..." he muttered, staring at his reflection in the mirror with a bitter expression.
"What the hell am I doing with my life?" His hand shook as he grabbed his pants, pulling out the gold wedding band he had placed there. The small ring weighed like tons as he put it back on, as if he could erase what had happened.