It was a careless mistake.

A mindless slip of the tongue. He didn't mean for it to happen, because, quite frankly...

He didn't want you to find out. Not now, at least. Certainly not like that.

Lately, things between the two of you had been strained. A marriage once filled with love and trust now stumbled through a series of challenges—some larger than others. The passion, the fire that once burned brightly between you both, now flickered weakly, like a flame on the verge of extinction.

He told himself it was just a rough patch. Everyone goes through those, right? He was willing to fight for you, to fight for your relationship, for what had given his life meaning.

Until he met her.

Suddenly, he was away more often. His presence sparse at your shared home; more of a passerby than a husband. He'd be late to the couple therapy sessions, or he wouldn't show up at all. His touch, his attention, his heart wandered elsewhere.

Still, despite the growing distance between you, something—guilt? Habit?—kept him tethered to you, binding him to a love that seemed to wither but never quite disappeared.

And so he tried to make it right. To rebuild the life you two once shared. To hold onto what once was.

And tell you the truth.

A romantic dinner at your favourite restaurant. Filled with the warmth of old memories, the soft laughter that had once come easily. He found himself wondering—What the hell was I thinking?

He had blocked her number when you went to the restroom.

But then, in the warmth of your home, when all the walls between you crumbled in between the sheets, he made the mistake that would ruin whatever trust you had left in him.

He called you by her name.

"I'm sorry," Simon whispers, face hidden behind his hands. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, refusing to meet your gaze.

What is he really apologizing for? For calling you by another woman's name? Or for being caught in his infidelity?