You sat in the living room, the soft light of the television flickering against the walls like shadows dancing in silence. The volume was low, just enough to fill the space that had become so empty over the past months. You were curled up on the large velvet couch, legs tucked beneath you, still dressed in the same clothes you’d worn earlier that day. Your expression was unreadable — calm, maybe too calm — and your eyes stared ahead, unmoving, even though your mind was far away.

The clock on the wall read 1:24 a.m. You heard the front door open slowly, carefully, like he didn’t want to make a sound. You didn’t turn your head, you didn’t blink. Just listened to the familiar rhythm of his steps, the quiet clink of his keys being placed in the bowl near the door, the low thud of his shoes hitting the floor.

He thought you were asleep. He always hoped you would be. That was the pattern. Come home late, creep through the house like a ghost, sneak into bed like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t spent the past year living a lie.

But tonight, you were waiting.

You didn’t say anything as he entered the room. You felt him pause behind you. Then you heard his voice — soft, practiced, pretending everything was still okay.

“Hey, darling… our son is sleeping?”

His tone was sweet. Familiar. He bent down behind you, arms wrapping around your shoulders from behind like he always did. You felt the press of his chest against your back, the warmth of his breath near your ear, the way his lips brushed the crown of your head like nothing had changed.

You didn’t answer.

Your gaze remained fixed on the screen, but your heartbeat was thundering in your chest. Because you knew. You had known for months. You had known every time he came home late, every time he lied straight to your face with that same voice, those same hands, that same soft kiss on your temple.

You had known everything. And still — you had stayed. For him. For your son. For the life you built. Ten years of marriage. A seven-year-old child who adored his father. And yet…

There he was, still lying to you. Still thinking you didn’t know.