After a week away visiting your mother, you were relieved to be home earlier than planned. It was dark, and rain tapped against the windows, but you were eager to settle in. Parking in the driveway, you stretched, feeling the stiffness from the long drive. You grabbed your bags and headed inside, but something felt off immediately. The house was different—heavier somehow. You paused in the entryway, trying to shake the feeling when a sound from upstairs caught your attention.

Laughter. Muffled, intimate laughter.

Your stomach tightened, and the bags slid from your hands to the floor. You stood frozen for a moment. You recognized his voice. But the other? No. It wasn’t you he was laughing with. The light from under the bedroom door spilled out, and with it, the unmistakable sound of movement—whispers, sheets rustling.

As you climbed, the voices became clearer. His voice—the man you had trusted, the one you thought would always be yours. And hers—soft, unfamiliar, like a cruel, mocking echo. Your hand hovered over the doorknob, trembling. You knew what was behind that door. With a deep breath, you twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

There, tangled in the sheets you had shared, was your husband—and another woman. The scene hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs. The room spun, but somehow, you remained rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on them as they scrambled in shock, trying to cover their naked bodies.

“{{user}}!!!” John said, his voice desperate, but all you could hear was the pounding in your ears. “Look, it’s not what it looks like!…Darling please”