31/08/2025
My Gym Instructor Was Hotter Than My Husband, And I Won’t Even Lie About That
It wasn’t just his muscles, though God knows they were carved like stone.
It was the way he moved—confident, assured, like the world bent its rhythm around his steps. His smile lit up the fitness room, and his voice, deep and commanding, curled around my name like velvet.
Each time he corrected my stance, his hand hovering near my waist, his breath warm on my ear as he said,
“Madam Sophia, tighten your core… yes, like that,”
My heart betrayed me. It raced.
I told myself it was just exercise, but deep down, I knew—it was more. His presence was intoxicating, each rep pulling me deeper into a fantasy I knew I had no business entertaining.
Soon, my gym hours became sweeter than my hours at home. I was glowing, sweating, alive in ways I hadn’t felt in months. His encouragement became my drug.
But that Friday morning, as I pulled out my leggings and sneakers, tying my hair into a ponytail, a soft voice interrupted me.
“Honey… you’re still going to the gym today?”
I froze. My husband stood by the door, his eyes tired yet tender, his voice carrying that same softness that had wooed me years ago.
“Yes,” I replied quickly. “Why do you ask?”
He stepped closer, his rough carpenter’s hands brushing mine as he helped adjust the water bottle strap I struggled with. His touch was familiar, but heavy with unspoken words.
“Nothing,” he said quietly. “I just noticed… you haven’t really been here with us lately. With me, with the kids. You seem… far away. But maybe it’s the stress.”
His words pierced me. For the first time in weeks, I really looked at him. That was when I noticed it—the faint burn mark across his wrist.
My heart clenched. “What happened here?” I asked, gently taking his hand.
He shrugged. “Two days ago. The generator backfired when I was trying to fix it. The pain was deep, but it’s healing.”
He tried to chuckle, but his laugh was strained.
My chest burned.
My husband, barel