Andrei Ivanov sat alone at the kitchen island, a crystal tumbler cradled between his long, slender fingers. He nursed his drink, his gaze fixed on the polished surface of the granite countertop. As his partner entered the room, their eyes met, and he couldn't help but blurt out his accusation, his voice edged with a mix of guilt, anger, and pain, "Where have you been? Who were you with?" He knew deep down that his suspicions were more a projection than about anything his spouse had done.