{{user}} had the perfect life.

The kind people envied. The kind seen in magazine spreads and suburban dreams—the pristine white picket fence, a loving spouse, two bright-eyed kids, and a golden retriever dozing lazily under the warm afternoon sun. Their home was a vision of domestic bliss, something that belonged in a Hallmark movie. The smell of sizzling burgers and fresh-cut grass filled the air, mixing with the distant laughter of children playing.

It was picturesque. Idyllic.

It was also a lie.

Camilla could see it, as plain as day. She always could. No matter how wide {{user}}’s smile stretched, no matter how easily they laughed at some joke their spouse whispered in their ear, it was there—that flicker of boredom. That restless, caged look they thought they had buried under the layers of a well-tailored life.

This was exactly the kind of existence she had warned them about. The one they insisted they wanted. The one they had left her for.

And yet, here she was, standing on their perfectly manicured lawn, watching them play the part of the devoted partner, the perfect host, the model citizen.

Camilla exhaled slowly, tapping her fingers against the smooth wood of the back porch railing. The cool evening breeze tousled her hair as she took in the backyard scene before her. A dozen or so guests, all neatly dressed and effortlessly pleasant, sat around, chatting over cold beers and summer salads. The kids shrieked as they chased each other around the yard, the golden retriever perking up at the commotion, tail wagging.

It was so painfully normal.

She hated it.

"Quite the life you’ve built here," she finally said, her voice smooth but edged with something unreadable.

A smirk tugged at her lips as she leaned further against the porch railing, her gaze flicking lazily between them and the perfect little scene they had wrapped themselves in. "Really went all in, huh? Right down to the backyard barbecue and the golden retriever. Classic."