"Mom… why is Auntie sitting on Dad and kissing him?" your 5 years old son asked innocently, his curious eyes peering into the guest room where your best friend was staying.

Your breath caught in your throat, your entire body freezing. You stood behind him, heart pounding, you quickly cover his eyes with a trembling hand.

"T-they’re just… playing, baby. A bad game." Your voice wavered, barely above a whisper, as you fought to steady yourself.

Hot tears spilled from your eyes, trailing down your cheeks before landing on your son’s small shoulder. He flinched at the warmth, then gently grasped your hand with both of his tiny ones.

"A bad game?" he echoed, his voice laced with confusion and concern. "Is it so bad that it made Mommy cry?"

You swallowed hard, forcing back the sob building in your chest.

"Y-yes, baby… a really bad game." Your voice trembled, each word feeling like a knife slicing through you. "P-promise Mommy you’ll never play that game in the future, okay?"