Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 30: Touching Her Feet

Chapter 30: Touching Her Feet

Back home, Jerica sat on the bed, her iron sliding over yet another one of Jared’s wrinkled linen shirts. The hiss of steam filled the room as she worked methodically, the rhythmic motion distracting her from the thoughts swirling in her mind.

The way Jared always left the house looking slightly disheveled—it irked her. She couldn’t stand it when he didn’t look his best. He never seemed to care about appearances the way she did. It was one of the small things that made her wonder just how differently they viewed the world.

The phone rang on the bedside table, snapping her from her thoughts. Her heart gave a quick jump. Maybe it was Jared, finally calling to check in. Maybe he’d tell her he missed her, that he wanted to come home early to spend time with her.

But when she glanced at the screen, her face immediately soured.

Harold.

Jerica frowned, her fingers tightening around the iron’s handle. Not again. Harold had been bothering her with calls lately, his persistence growing more annoying by the day. She wasn’t sure what his intentions were—maybe it was guilt, or maybe he just wanted to stir up old feelings. Either way, she wasn’t interested.

The phone kept ringing, but Jerica didn’t move. Let it ring

, she thought. She wasn’t going to answer, especially not tonight.

After a few more seconds, the ringing stopped, and she breathed a sigh of relief. But then came the buzz—a text message.

She didn’t bother checking it. She knew it would be Harold, and she didn’t care to read whatever excuse or apology he had concocted this time. Should I block his number? she wondered, seriously considering it. It would make things easier, wouldn’t it? No more distractions, no more unwanted texts or calls from the past.

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Jared entered the house quietly, his steps light on the hardwood floor. He hadn’t even checked to see if she had read his text, but the thought didn’t bother him. Instead, a soft smile tugged at his lips as he moved through the house with a sense of purpose.

When he opened the bedroom door, there she was—curled beneath the covers, deeply asleep, her soft breaths the only sound in the room. The sight of her so peacefully resting tugged at something deep within him.

It reminded him of how she was always like this—once the clock struck ten, she was out, like she had been trained in boarding school. Even an earthquake wouldn’t rouse her from her slumber.

Her sleeping habits were part of why their intimacy had waned. No matter how late he arrived home, she was already in bed, and no amount of noise, light, or even his gentle nudging would wake her. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb her, so he’d often leave her undisturbed, turning his own rest into something solitary and disconnected.

Tonight, though, he lingered, watching her with a sense of longing.

He flicked on the light gently, just to see if perhaps she might stir. But no—she was lost to the world, her chest rising and falling rhythmically.

His eyes then fell on the neat stack of freshly ironed shirts sitting on the side. It was a small thing, but it made him feel grounded again. For days, he had felt adrift, but seeing those shirts—pressed and folded the way only she could—was like inhaling a breath of clean air. His wife had this way of tethering him back, giving him structure when he felt the edges of his life fraying.

Jared took a quiet shower and returned to the bedroom, noticing the hum of the dryer. He retrieved the laundry, folding her clothes carefully as he always did, though it never compared to the magic of her hands.

His wife’s way of folding shirts was almost like a blessing—he half-joked with himself that he succeeded in court when he wore her freshly pressed shirts. She had a touch, an invisible luck in her hands that carried over into his day.

When he sat beside her again, she hadn’t moved. He watched her, his gaze softening.

God, how beautiful she looked. More than usual tonight, she seemed to glow. The curve of her lips, the delicate line of her neck, the way the duvet clung to her body—it all stirred something deep inside him. A deep hunger welled up, a longing to lose himself in her, to feel her warmth, to be closer to her than he had been in a long time.

He cleared his throat, shaking off the heat rising within him. He didn’t want to turn this moment into something purely physical. It was more than that—it was the intimacy, the quiet reverence he held for her, the love that made him want to take care of her, even in the small ways she wouldn’t notice.

His eyes wandered down to her feet, noticing the chipped nail enamel and her slightly overgrown toenails. She hadn’t done a pedicure in a while. Without hesitation, Jared moved to the bathroom, gathering everything he needed. He returned to her side, handling her foot with the utmost care, as though he were cradling something fragile, something precious.

With gentle strokes, he removed the old polish, his hands moving slowly, delicately, like an artist crafting something beautiful. The way he cared for her toes, the precision with which he filed her nails and applied the new polish—a muted nude shade, just as she liked—was more than just an act of grooming. It was an offering of love, a silent declaration that in the quiet moments, in the unseen gestures, his devotion to her still ran deep.

As he finished, Jared covered her feet again with the duvet, his heart full. He leaned down, brushing his lips softly against her forehead. "I love you so, so much, Jerica," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He inhaled the soft scent of her skin, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he kissed her again. The warmth of her body beneath his lips stirred that familiar yearning once more.

She was everything to him, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into her, to feel the connection they had lost somewhere along the way. But there was a tenderness to his longing now.

He didn’t want to simply take—he wanted to give, to be with her fully, to reignite the closeness they once had. His desire was not just for her body, but for the emotional depth, the intimacy that came with knowing her so deeply.

His hand hovered over her waist, yearning to pull her closer. But just as he leaned in, pressing another kiss to her forehead, his phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand, interrupting the moment. The sound shattered the quiet intimacy of the room, drawing him reluctantly away from her warmth.

With a sigh, Jared pulled back and reached for his phone. The light of the screen illuminated his face as he glanced at the caller ID, feeling his connection with her slip further into the distance.

He answered the call and all he heard were the screams of a woman.