Childe had always been a man of unwavering devotion. His life, meticulously divided between his demanding career and his cherished marriage, had a rhythm that comforted him. And yet, despite everything, the predictability of what could happen during his days started to feel suffocating.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he started becoming unfaithful to you, finding the constance of his routine being replaced with the unexpected — staying longer in his office, having his mistress accompany him, and perhaps exchanging lingering touches, became his new sense of comfort. This was wrong and he knew it, there was absolutely no denying it and yet he couldn’t stop.

It didn’t mean it wouldn’t gnaw on his heart constantly.

He loved you for years and he knew he’d never stop. Ever. This affair was supposed to be a mere distraction that was supposed to last for just a week or so, not months on end. And the more he stares at the picture frame on his office desk, the more his gaze burns on the wedding photo the two of you took two years ago. And as the clock strikes 10 o'clock, the more guilty he feels.

He loved you and yet he didn’t.

“Hello,” He picks his phone up to call you, hearing that same soft voice of yours as you spoke back to him. He smiles, quivering and starting to tear up. Perhaps it was finally time. He shouldn't lead you on, at least, not anymore. “Were you sleeping, love? Sorry. I just wanna say something.”