“This will be our last day together,” Martin murmured, lying beside Sheila, both of them unclothed.
He wrapped an arm around her, his fingers tracing slow patterns across her bare skin.

“I know you can’t resist me, Martin,” Sheila said, meeting his gaze with a teasing smile.

He chuckled softly. “Yeah... I really can’t resist you.”

“Come on,” she smirked, “you’re going to play daddy to Ashley, right?”

Martin only laughed and shook his head. Deep down, though, he knew he had to go home soon—to finally carry out the plan he’d been turning over in his mind.

“Let’s sleep now,” Sheila whispered, her voice soft against the quiet of the room.

He nodded, pulling her closer. The warmth of her body against his lulled him to sleep.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when he sensed something at the edge of the bed. At first, he ignored it, thinking it was Sheila shifting in her sleep.
But something didn’t feel right.

Half-awake, he opened his eyes. The faint glow from the lampshade revealed a figure sitting at the foot of the bed. His chest tightened.

A woman sat there, her eyes distant and full of sorrow. Her wavy hair framed a pale, melancholic face, and her faded dress hung loosely over her bruised body.

Martin’s eyes darted to Sheila—still sound asleep. When he looked back, the woman was staring straight at him.

Their eyes met.

A chill ran through his spine.

Then, her sad expression twisted into something dark—something full of vengeance. She leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you enjoying your betrayal?”

The words slid through the air like a curse. Goosebumps rose across his arms.

“Who are you?!” Martin demanded, his voice trembling.

The woman’s face warped with anguish, streaked with blood. Her lips curled into a haunting smile.

“You know me well, Martin. Shhh... be careful with karma.”

And then—she was gone.

Martin’s eyes flew open. A hand touched his arm. He flinched and swatted it away.

“Ouch!” Sheila gasped, waking up.

He turned aside, rubbing his face.

“What happened?” she asked, sitting up.

“Sorry... I didn’t mean to,” he said quietly.

“You were having a nightmare,” Sheila said, her tone soft with concern.

“It’s nothing,” he forced a smile.

She glanced at the clock. “Let’s just sleep again.”

He nodded, pulling her close once more.

“My night will be sad again,” she whispered, looking up at him.

He chuckled, kissing her. “Then I’ll make it better. I’ll get you pregnant this time.”

She laughed. “You’re so playful, hon.”

“I’m serious,” he said. “Let’s have a child together.”

Her smirk returned. “Then satisfy me.”

“I always do,” he murmured, his voice low.

Their lips met again, and passion consumed the room. They moved together—urgent, familiar, and burning.
Martin whispered her name against her ear, kissed her deeply, his hands roaming freely.

“You’re so wet,” he teased, his breath hot against her skin.

Their rhythm grew faster, rougher, until Sheila gasped, “Yes... right there.”

Martin groaned, gripping her tighter. “I might really get you pregnant.”

She straddled him, her movements quickening as he held her breasts, lost in sensation. They shifted again, her body beneath his now, their breaths mingling until they reached release together.

“So hot,” Sheila panted, collapsing beside him in their air-conditioned room, their bodies slick with sweat.

“You’ll definitely get me pregnant,” she whispered.

He grinned lazily. “My sperm’s strong.”

She laughed softly. “You’ll take responsibility, right?”

“Of course,” he replied, kissing her forehead.

Exhaustion claimed them both soon after. Martin had set an alarm—it was Saturday, the day he planned to face his family again.

He would see Sharlene.
This time, he told himself, I’ll end it for good. I don’t care about her or Ashley anymore.

When he left that morning, Sheila was still asleep. He placed a short note on the table before heading to work.

But as he drove, the memory of the woman from the night before clung to him like a shadow. No matter how hard he tried to shake it off, she lingered in his mind.

His thoughts drifted until—screech!—he slammed the brakes. The car jolted.
A child stood in front of him, wearing a hospital gown.

He blinked. He couldn’t see her face.

Then, just like the woman—she vanished.

Martin slapped his cheek, then his other. He wasn’t dreaming.

“You’re imagining things again, Martin,” he muttered under his breath.

Shaken, he climbed back into the car and drove away.