I Cheated with His Permission

Three years into my marriage, and the passion had completely fizzled out. We still hadn't started a family—no kids, no real excitement. Nothing.

And then, one ordinary day, I met a stranger on the bus.

Everything changed after that. I got hooked on the rush, the thrill of something new. I crossed a line. I betrayed my husband.

And then I found out I was pregnant.

When his family discovered my secret, they didn't cast me out. Instead, they treated me like royalty.

But the guilt ate me alive—until I learned the whole truth. Slowly, piece by piece, I began to find my way back to peace.

"Honey…" I murmured, my fingers tracing a slow path down my husband Zachary Anderson's arm.

No reaction. He lay perfectly still, like a statue—a monk who'd sworn off earthly temptations.

"Olivia, I've got an early day tomorrow. Let's just get some sleep," he said, his voice flat before he turned away from me.

I never pushed. I didn't want to bruise his ego.

But let's be real—I was young, full of life, and starving for affection. Night after night of this left me frustrated, restless, and honestly… lonely.

I finally drifted off, feeling unsettled and unsatisfied.

The next morning, Zachary was already in the kitchen. To give him credit, he was thoughtful in his own way. That's why I stayed—even if our bedroom was more quiet than passionate.

For three years, without fail, he made me breakfast before work. And every morning, without fail, he kissed me softly on the forehead before we went our separate ways.

In every other way, he was the ideal husband.

That day, I dragged myself to the bus stop. I normally drove, but Zachary had scraped up the car the day before, so it was in the shop.

I had no idea the morning bus could be such a battlefield. People crammed into every inch of space. I didn't even have to step forward—the crowd just swallowed me whole.

I was pressed on all sides. Behind me stood a tall, good-looking guy—well over six feet. He caught my eye and offered a polite smile. I nodded back.

The bus lurched forward. I stumbled, trying to keep my balance.

Half an hour in, my legs were tired, and my mind was drifting.

Then I felt it—an unmistakable touch where there shouldn't have been one.

My stomach dropped. I tried to shift away, but there was nowhere to go. The man behind me took my silence as permission. He grew bolder.

I spun around and shot him a look that could kill. He just smirked.

Shoving him hard, I finally found my voice. "What do you think you're doing? Have you no shame?"

"What? It's a tight squeeze. People bump into each other," he shot back, all fake innocence.

"Don't play dumb. You know exactly what you did!"

"Who's gonna believe you? No one saw anything."

He was getting cocky, sure he'd gotten away with it. But then—the handsome stranger stepped in.

He gripped the creep's wrist, hard. The guy yelped.

"I saw everything," the tall man said calmly. "I even got it on video. Want to take a look?"

That's all it took. Other passengers turned, voices rising in anger.

"Get off this bus, you pervert!"

"Someone call the cops!"

My eyes stung with gratitude. I wasn't alone.

The stranger turned to me. "I'll delete the video after this, don't worry."

"Thank you," I said, breathless. "I didn't know what to do."

"Next time, don't hesitate. Just call the police."

Good-looking and good-hearted. I thanked him again, wishing I could do more.

But before I could ask for his number, he stepped off at his stop. I made a mental note to thank him properly someday.