Chapter 2 Yes

I didn't sleep that night. I lay beside him in our too-quiet loft, my eyes open to the dark, listening to the weight of our silence. His breath was even, like sleep came easily to him, but I could feel it. He was awake, just like me. We were both pretending, waiting for the other to speak first.

I watched the ceiling until it blurred, the city lights sneaking through the cracks in our blinds, sketching patterns on the walls. My mind looped through every word I'd said, every word he hadn't. What did it mean that he didn't yell? That he didn't walk out? That he didn't touch me?

At dawn, I got out of bed without a sound. The floor was cold. My robe hung on the back of the door like a stranger's arm. I wrapped it around me and made coffee, fingers trembling as I poured. The aroma filled the kitchen, too warm for how cold I felt.

When I turned, Ethan was standing in the hallway.

He wasn't dressed yet. Just a pair of gray sweats, no shirt, hair tousled from restless sleep. His eyes were tired. Not angry. Not confused. Just tired, like he'd been carrying the weight of my question through the night like a stone in his chest.

"Claire," he said.

My name sounded strange in his mouth. Not unkind, just careful.

"Do you still want to do this?" he asked.

I nodded, my voice still lost somewhere between guilt and craving.

"Then let's do it right," he said. "Together."

I stared at him, barely breathing.

"We find her together," he said. "You don't get to do this in secret. I want to see everything."

I nodded again. My throat was dry. "Okay."

He stepped forward and took the mug from my hands. His fingers brushed mine. There was heat in the touch. Not affection. Possession.

"You don't get to disappear," he said.

"I don't want to."

He sipped the coffee and winced. "You still make it too strong."

A strange sound slipped out of me, almost a laugh. Something uncoiled in my chest.

He set the mug down, then reached for my waist. Held me like he hadn't in months. Maybe longer. His hands were warm. Firm.

"Tell me what you need me to be in this," he said.

"I need you to be my witness," I whispered. "Not my judge."

He nodded slowly, like he understood something deeper than words. "Then you'll give me the same in return."

I was tense. "What do you mean?"

"If I say yes, you don't get to close the door behind her. I'm not a voyeur, Claire. I'm your husband. If this is about finding yourself, I want to see who you become."

The air between us felt sharp, like a string pulled too tight.

"Do you want her to touch you in front of me?" he asked.

I flushed. "Yes."

"Do you want her to undress you? Take her time?"

My lips parted. My heart thudded in my chest.

"Say it."

"I want her to look at me like she knows what I need. Like she knows I'm starving for it."

He breathed out, slow. "You want to be devoured."

"I want to feel like I exist," I whispered.

He pulled back, searching my face. "Then we start tonight."

My stomach flipped. "What?"

"You're going to write a post. An anonymous one. We don't name ourselves. We don't tell her anything about our life. Just what you want. What we want."

I hesitated. "I don't know how to say it."

"I'll help you."

He picked up his phone and handed it to me. I stared at the blank message screen like it was a cliff's edge.

"Say it like you said it to me," he said. "Only this time, say it knowing someone else will answer."

I typed with shaking fingers:

Woman wanted. Confident. Observant. Patient but unapologetic. You'll be told everything. You'll know what I need before I ask. You'll take your time. You'll make me forget to say sorry. You'll do it while my husband watches.

Ethan read over my shoulder.

"Add one more thing," he said. "Tell her the wife asked for permission. But it won't be hers for long."

I typed it. Hit send.

There. It was out in the world now. Floating. Waiting.

That night, the first reply came.

Three words.

I see you.

My whole body lit up like static.

Ethan saw the message and glanced at me. "Let's see if she's real."

And just like that, it began.

No turning back.

No undoing it.

Only forward.