Julian didn't say another word. His hands worked with such gentle precision that before I knew it, my nerves had completely unwound again.
"All done, Mrs. Laurent. That concludes our session."
His voice pulled me back from the edge of sleep. I jolted slightly, sitting up and peeling off the sleep mask.
"That's it?" I couldn't hide my disappointment. It felt like it had only just begun.
When I looked up, I caught Julian wiping his hands with a damp towel—streaks of white lotion still visible on his fingers. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I quickly looked away.
His expression was unreadable, perfectly calm and professional as always.
"Yes. You should feel some relief now. If you'd like to book another session, just message me on WhatsApp."
With that, he packed his things and turned to leave.
I hurried to see him out but noticed his gaze drop for a split second.
My top wasn't fully adjusted.
Then the front door clicked open.
My heart leaped into my throat—I'd completely forgotten about my husband.
If he walked in and saw me like this, half-dressed with another man in our living room, he would absolutely lose it.
I yanked my shirt down just as Julian reached the door.
Sure enough, the moment my husband laid eyes on a stranger in our home, his face darkened.
"Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"
My husband has always had a quick temper. Worried they might clash, I quickly stepped between them.
"Honey, this is Julian. He's the new lactation consultant I hired. He was just finishing up."
"A lactation consultant? A man?" His scowl deepened. "Since when do men do this kind of work? This seems... off. I bet he's got ulterior motives."
His suspicious glare then shifted to me. "You two were really just doing a massage? Nothing else happened?"
"Of course not!" The accusation stung. "Check the security feed if you don't believe me!"
We had installed a camera in the living room to keep an eye on the baby. I never imagined its first real use would be to prove my innocence.
Seeing how adamant I was, some of the tension left his shoulders.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I overreacted."
"It's fine."
Julian's tone was ice-cool and detached. He gave a curt nod and left without a backward glance. His lack of hesitation seemed to put my husband even more at ease.
Noticing I was still upset, my husband pulled me into a hug. "Come on, sweetheart, don't be mad. You have to see it from my side—any guy would have questions..."
My eyes burned. Logically, I understood, but the postpartum hormones magnified every emotion. The tears came before I could stop them.
His face fell. He showered me with apologies, trying everything to get me to smile.
Deep down, I wasn't really angry with him. If the roles were reversed, I probably would have doubted him, too.
I pulled up the camera footage on my phone. "Here. See for yourself. Nothing happened."
"Julian came highly recommended by my best friend. He's young, but he has over a decade of experience. He's a true professional."
His treatment had worked, too. The painful engorgement had eased, and even breastfeeding felt smoother afterward.
Though my husband claimed to trust me, his eyes stayed glued to the screen. He watched every second, only relaxing when he reached the end.
He made me promise never to book a male consultant without someone else present.
I nodded absently, already dismissing the concern.