Chapter 47 The Third IUI
Elena’s optimism had worn thin by the third IUI attempt. She moved through the house with a quiet heaviness, the medication and repeated failures etching lines of exhaustion around her eyes. She still tracked her cycle with meticulous care, but the bright hope that once colored her voice had dulled into a fragile determination that looked more like fear.
Marcus watched her from the doorway as she prepared for the appointment, her hands shaking slightly while she gathered her bag. “This one has to work,” she said softly, more to herself than to him. “I don’t know how many more times I can do this.”
He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “We’ll get through it,” he murmured, the words feeling heavier every time he spoke them. Elena leaned back into him, drawing comfort from his presence, but Marcus felt the familiar knot of guilt tighten in his chest. He was holding his wife while already anticipating the moment he would betray her again.
At the clinic, the routine had become painfully familiar. Elena lay on the table, legs in stirrups, her face pale but set with resolve. Marcus stood beside her, holding her hand as the nurse handed him the collection cup once more.
In the small room, he tried to focus on Elena. On the life they were fighting for. On being the man she needed. But his mind betrayed him again. As he stroked himself, images of Lucy flooded in — the way she had looked at him that morning when he had taken her quickly before leaving, the way she had whispered that she loved feeling him finish inside her while his wife prepared for another attempt at conceiving his child.
He came thinking of Lucy, not Elena.
When he handed the sample over and returned to his wife’s side, Elena looked up at him with tired gratitude. “Thank you for doing this again,” she whispered. “I know it’s not easy for you either.”
Marcus kissed her forehead and held her hand through the insemination, his heart pounding with shame. The doctor injected the sperm with careful precision. Elena gripped his fingers tightly, her body tense with both discomfort and the last threads of hope she still clung to.
They returned home in strained silence. Elena was emotionally and physically drained, so she went upstairs to rest, murmuring that she needed to lie down. The moment her bedroom door clicked shut, the hunger surged through Marcus like a storm he no longer tried to outrun.
He found Lucy in her room. She took one look at his face and knew. This time there were no words. Marcus pulled her to him and took her with increasing desperation, pushing her onto the bed and thrusting into her with deep, urgent strokes.
Lucy met every movement, her body arching to take him deeper. “You just gave them your sperm for her third IUI,” she breathed, nails digging into his shoulders. “And now you’re breeding me instead. Your guilt is making you fuck me like you’re trying to erase her.”
Marcus groaned and drove into her harder, the truth only intensifying the conflict inside him. He wanted to support Elena through this painful process. He wanted to be the partner who stood beside her during every attempt. Yet the more he participated in the clinical hope of the IUI, the more desperately he needed to lose himself in Lucy afterward. The addiction had deepened into something that fed on the very stress and disappointment of the fertility journey.
The sex was raw and intense. Marcus took Lucy with a desperation that bordered on anger — at himself, at the situation, at the impossible choice he could no longer avoid. He flipped her onto her stomach and took her from behind, his hips slamming against her with punishing force. Lucy pushed back against him, taking everything he gave, her moans muffled into the pillow.
Every thrust carried the weight of his growing desperation. The more Elena lost hope with each failed attempt, the more Marcus felt the need to claim Lucy with increasing intensity. The core struggle had become a vicious cycle: the harder Elena fought for their future child, the more violently he sought relief in her daughter.
When he finally came, it was with a deep, broken groan, flooding her while his mind screamed at him for what he had become.
Later that evening, Elena came downstairs looking pale and defeated. She found Marcus in the living room and sat beside him, taking his hand in both of hers. Her voice was quiet, but there was a new edge of resignation in it.
“The third IUI failed,” she said, tears welling in her eyes again. “I’m losing hope, Marcus. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. The doctor mentioned moving to IVF if the next one fails. I think we should start preparing for that. I can’t keep doing this month after month without real progress.”
Marcus pulled her into his arms, holding her as she cried softly against his chest. He comforted her with gentle words and promises that they would explore every option, that he was right there with her.
But even as he held his wife and offered comfort, his gaze drifted once again toward the hallway where Lucy’s door stood closed. The third IUI had failed.
Elena was losing hope, and with that loss came her suggestion to move to IVF.
The treatments were escalating. The pressure was mounting. And Marcus could feel the fragile balance of his double life beginning to crack under the weight of every negative result and every secret release.