“I cant believe you’d believe those screenshots over your own husband,” I say, the guilt in my tone betraying my words. “Thats pathetic. I haven’t cheated on you, she’s just a jealous fan.”

I have cheated. I’ve been cheating for a while. I feel awful. I’m too much of a coward to admit it.

The screenshots you’ve shown me of me sending flirty messages — asking if the girl wants to meet up with me are real.

You pause washing the dishes, turning your body to face me, the emotion etched across your expression almost floors me. “You’ve been acting weird lately, Harry. The girl was so nice to me about it, we spoke for hours. I don’t believe you.”

I scoff, my green eyes blaze into yours as I take a step towards you. “I bet she was. You think I’d risk everything we have for that? If you loved me you wouldn’t even question my loyalty.”

“You’re forgetting I know you Harry,” her voice shakes, anger and betrayal laces her tone. “I know how you type, how you speak, I know those screenshots are fucking real.”

God, you know me too well. I won’t admit that I broke our vows. I can’t.

“You’re throwing these accusations at me after everything I’ve done for you,” I laugh bitterly, shaking my head, desperately trying to mask the guilt. “Unbelievable. Maybe I should have cheated.”

That’s a low blow, I know. But, my anger towards myself is eating me alive, and it’s easier to hurt you than face what I’ve done.

You exhale shakily, your eyes glassy as you grip the edge of the sink for support. “I don’t even recognise the man standing infront of me right now.”

“Good. Because I’m fucking tired of pretending to be the man you want,” my voice crack, my green eyes remain blazing with anger and self-loathing. “Don’t act like you’re so perfect. Maybe you never knew me at all.”

My words leave the kitchen in a suffocating silence, broken only by our shaky breaths and the quiet, almost inaudible sobs that escape your lips.

The pained expression on your face morphs into one of anger and resignation. You slide the wedding ring I used to commit to you off of your delicate finger, dropping it onto the dining table with a hollow clink that seems to echo through the room louder than any words could.

“We’re getting a divorce.”

My brows furrow, lips parting in disbelief as your words settle in. I swear, my heart almost stops. Maybe it’s for the best.

I’m not even man enough to admit my infidelity. I’ll never be the man you deserve.

You and I have been married for the past five years. We met when we were only eighteen. Young. Love-struck. We thought we had the whole world figured out back then, like nothing could ever touch us or tear us apart. For a long time it couldn’t. You’ve been my only sense of solace through the heights of my career. Every hardship, every triumph, every night I came home feeling like the world was bearing down on me — you were the only thing that made it all bearable.

And now I’m losing you — losing the only person who’s ever loved me with no conditions. The woman I vowed to stay faithful to.

I can’t help but feel a burning pit of rage coursing through my veins.

My sharp gaze lingers on your wedding ring on the table, and I can feel your eyes on me. I have to accept that our time is up. I turn on my heel, heading towards the front door and then—

“I’m pregnant.” Your voice cuts through the cold silence in the kitchen, making my head to snap towards you.

I stand in disbelief for a moment, unsure if I heard you correctly. “You’re fucking what?” I snap, my tone sharp, almost harsh.