The Weight of Infidelity

In the dim morning haze of their kitchen, John and Angie collide in raw, desperate hunger. Bare skin slick with sweat, they rut against the cold cabinets, bodies slamming with frantic urgency until John explodes, flooding her throat with his hot seed. Angie gulps it down, rising to cling to him, their bliss a fragile veil. As passion ebbs, she saunters to the freezer, snatching a pint of ice cream. John's face hardens. 'What the hell?' he snaps. She shrugs, licking the spoon. 'Craving something sweet—burned off plenty with you.' His eyes narrow, recalling her grueling months of transformation. 'Don't sabotage it now,' he warns, yanking the pint away and slamming it back. 'You're not done losing.' Angie's playful spark dies; she pulls the spoon from her lips. 'Relax, love—body pump at lunch, gym after.' He snatches it, tossing it in the dishwasher. 'We've been over this. It's not a game—it's for you.' She wilts, arms shielding her curves, voice small. 'Sorry... I thought it was fine. I've dropped so much already—how much more?' John fixes her with a cold stare, the air thick with unspoken judgments.