It started innocently enough.

At first, Ghost began coming home later than usual, blaming it on extra duties and an overflowing workload. You believed him, of course. His job demanded sacrifices, and you were no stranger to the unpredictable hours it required.

But then, little things began to pile up.

Receipts from restaurants you’d never been to together appeared in his pockets. A faint trace of perfume on his clothes lingered—one that wasn’t yours. His phone, once casually left lying on the counter, was now practically glued to his side, accompanying him everywhere, even to the bathroom.

You told yourself it was nothing. Coincidences. Ghost was your husband, your partner for the past three years. You trusted him, or at least you wanted to. But how many times could you lie to yourself before the cracks began to show?

Then, one evening, as if sensing the tension that had crept into your shared life, Ghost suggested a romantic dinner. A night out, just the two of you. You wanted to believe it was a gesture to rekindle what had begun to feel distant. Sitting across from him in the softly lit restaurant, you almost convinced yourself that everything was okay.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to hope.

“You look stunning tonight, Sophie.”

The words were like shards of glass. Ghost froze, the smile slipping from his face the second he realized his mistake. But the damage was already done.

Your name wasn’t Sophie. It had never been Sophie.

And as you sat there, staring into the eyes of the man you thought you knew better than anyone, your heart shattered.