Isabelle’s phone buzzed as she was setting out a couple of side dishes. She glanced at the screen and raised her eyebrows.
“Looks like Jess and Megan are going to be late,” she said, reading the message aloud. “Traffic’s a mess—ETA is another hour, maybe more.”
Mike looked up from the table he was setting. “You serious?”
She turned, a slow smile forming. “Mmhmm. Just us. Quiet house. No interruptions.” Her gaze shifted from the clock to her husband, and she stepped toward him with that same youthful energy she hadn’t felt in years. “And we’ve got time.”
There was a spark in her eyes—not just mischief, but a kind of genuine excitement, the kind she used to have when they were first married, before life got so… full.
“I feel amazing,” she said, arms slipping around his waist. “And you—” she ran her hands along his chest, taking note of how solid he felt now, how easily he filled out his shirt “—you’re not exactly the same guy who pulled a muscle trying to open the pickle jar last winter.”
Mike gave her a mock-offended look. “Hey, I was just being cautious.”
“Sure you were.” She grinned. “But now?”
He didn’t wait. In one smooth motion, he scooped her up into his arms.
“Mike!” she laughed, surprised. “You’re carrying me?”
He adjusted her easily, holding her like a bride on their wedding night. “You weigh less now. I’m stronger. I’d call that a win-win.”
Isabelle blinked, genuinely impressed. “I was not expecting that to be so… easy for you.”
“You complaining?”
“Not even a little.”
Still grinning, she nestled closer into his arms as he carried her down the hallway. The quiet of the house surrounded them, but it wasn’t empty—it was peaceful, rare, and full of unspoken things. For the first time in a long while, they weren’t thinking about work schedules, laundry, or who was driving Megan to dance practice.
This moment was just about them.
As Mike nudged the bedroom door open, Isabelle tightened her arms around his neck and whispered, “You better not throw your back out this time.”
He laughed. “Pretty sure we upgraded past that.”
And with the door gently closing behind them, the rest of the world faded away for a little while—replaced by laughter, warmth, and the rediscovery of something they hadn’t even realized they’d been missing.
As Mike set her down on the bed with a gentleness that belied his new strength, Isabelle felt her breath catch—not out of exertion, but anticipation. The covers were still a little rumpled from earlier that morning, but now everything felt different. Her skin tingled, every touch more vivid, every glance carrying more weight.
She ran her hands up his arms, marveling at the tone beneath her fingers. This is real. This is him. This is me.
But in those quiet, breathless moments as he kissed her neck and her fingers curled into his back, there were flickers—like distant echoes in a hallway. A memory of being Jeff. Of thinking intimacy was something guys chased, not something they surrendered to. A time when affection wasn’t wrapped in warmth or emotional connection, but often in awkward bravado or confusion.
Is this what it feels like? Isabelle thought, not in disbelief, but awe.
The sensation of being touched in a body that responded so fully, so naturally—it wasn’t just physical. It was chemical, emotional, even spiritual. She felt wanted. Beautiful. Connected. And though she might have scoffed at those words once, tonight they rang true in her bones.
There was a small, almost imperceptible part of Jeff still in there—observing, puzzled, intrigued. Not resisting anymore, just… trying to understand. Is this what she felt? All those times I never noticed how she looked at me, touched me, held me?
Isabelle didn’t have all the answers. But she knew this much: the way Mike looked at her now, with admiration, need, and love—that wasn’t something forced by the program. That was real. She could feel it.
And more than that… she wanted it. Craved it.
Her enhanced body—firmer, more youthful, more responsive—didn’t just make the experience physically pleasurable; it removed the insecurities. The awkwardness. She wasn’t worried about how she looked or if the lights were on. She felt beautiful. And it changed everything.
Mike leaned down, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You’re glowing,” he whispered.
“So are you,” she murmured, her hand resting over his chest. “And for the record… thank you. For seeing me.”
They held each other close, every touch soft and slow. Time stretched, the world reduced to the sound of their breathing and the gentle creak of the mattress. It wasn’t just passion—it was rediscovery. Reconnection.
And somewhere inside, Jeff wasn’t screaming or struggling anymore.
He was quiet. Curious. Maybe even… content.