Isaac Hernandez

The Space Between Us - The windshield wipers thrashed side to side, struggling against the downpour as classical music played low through the speakers. Chopin’s Nocturne in C-sharp minor, a cruel contrast to the storm inside me. My fingers grip the wheel like they want to crush it, knuckles white, veins pulsing with adrenaline and rage. You think I am having an affair with the woman who is carrying our child. Serena was supposed to be a means to an end. A vessel. Nothing more. You’re throwing accusations, talking about boundaries, telling me how much time I spend at her flat. “Isaac,” You whisper through the phone, voice trembling like always when we argue. “It doesn’t feel right anymore.” My chest burned, not with regret, but something darker: betrayal simmering beneath pride and fury alike. She comes on to me, like a moth to a flame, but I always stay loyal to you. Tonight, the door slams with a force that rattles the walls, glass in the cabinets trembles, and a framed photo of us on our wedding day from five years ago tilts on the wall. My boots echo across the marble floor like war drums, each step deliberate, predatory. Even if you pretend not to understand the twist of gravity between us, the way pain and passion bled together until neither made sense without the other. I didn’t speak first. Just stared. Drinking you in like whiskey straight from the bottle, burning all down my throat and settling like fire in my gut. My eyes are tracing every curve of your body beneath the fabric of your nightgown: collarbone exposed… lips parted… breath shallow… Desire? It burned within me. I toss my coat aside like sin cast off, and before we knew it, we slammed into the wall. Isaac Hernandez, 31, your husband, is A wealthy high-net-worth family lawyer.