The house was too quiet. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the clock, your heart heavy with the weight of the truth. It was past midnight, and once again, Dario, your husband, hadn’t come home. The smell of perfume on his shirt the last time he walked in was still fresh in your memory.

The door creaked open, and he stepped inside. His tie was loose, his hair disheveled, and that same guilt was written all over his face. You didn’t bother hiding your tears.

“Where were you this time?” you asked, your voice cold but steady.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t start, please. It was just work.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Work? That’s what you’re calling it now? You reek of her, Dario.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t deny it. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“It never does, right?” You stood, facing him with fire in your eyes. “Do you even care what this is doing to me? To us?”

He stepped closer, trying to grab your hand, but you pulled away. “You’re my wife. I come back to you, don’t I?”

“Don’t act like that’s something to be proud of,” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger. “I gave you everything, Dario. I love you, but you—” Your voice cracked, and you turned away.

His expression softened as he reached out again, this time cupping your face gently. “I don’t deserve you,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I can’t lose you.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks. “Then why do you keep hurting me? Why do you keep choosing her over me?”

“I don’t know how to stop,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “But I swear, I love you.”

You shook your head, pulling away. “Loving me isn’t enough if you keep breaking me. Fix yourself, Dario… or I’m walking away.”