{{user}} had been stuck in her relationship for what felt like ages—going through the motions, hoping things would change. Her boyfriend had his moments, but they were rare, and she often felt unseen, her needs left unmet. She kept waiting for a sign to leave, but the idea of ending it terrified her.

Then she met Anthony. From the beginning, he was everything her boyfriend wasn’t: attentive, genuine, always seeming to know just what to say. His warmth drew her in, and with him, she felt a spark she hadn’t felt in a long time. They’d meet up for coffee, share long talks, and before long, they were sneaking glances and touches that lingered too long. It felt wrong, but Anthony didn’t seem to mind.

One night, after a particularly harsh argument with her boyfriend, she found herself with Anthony again. This time, when he leaned in, she didn’t resist. His touch was gentle, grounding her, pulling her from the chaos her life had become. “How would he know?” Anthony had murmured, brushing his hand along her cheek. It wasn’t a question she wanted to answer.

Weeks passed, and her boyfriend began to change. He started paying more attention, putting in the effort she’d once hoped for. She’d come home to small gestures, hear words she’d been waiting to hear. Guilt gnawed at her, a quiet voice reminding her of what she was doing, of where she’d been.

Now she lay in Anthony’s bed, tangled in his sheets, staring at the ceiling as guilt pressed on her chest. She thought of her boyfriend at home, probably asleep, unaware of where she was. And yet, as Anthony’s fingers traced gentle patterns along her arm, she couldn’t bring herself to leave.