The backyard is full of voices, laughter carried over the warm evening air. The scent of grilled meat drifts in thick waves, the low murmur of country music playing from a speaker near the porch. It should feel easy. Comfortable. Like home.

But Joel’s jaw is tight, a weight settling deep in his chest as he watches you from across the yard.

You’ve been distant.

Not in a way most people would notice, but he does. He always does.

It’s in the way you’ve been quieter around him, your touches fewer, your gaze flicking away when he looks at you too long. You’ve been staying out later, coming home with bags from stores you never used to shop at—clothes that fit different, makeup a little heavier, perfume just a little stronger.

And now, here, at Tommy’s birthday barbecue, he watches as you laugh at something one of Tommy’s friends says.

Not just any friend. Him.

Some guy you used to work with, someone Joel never had a reason to pay attention to until now. Until he caught the way you smiled at him, the way you leaned in just slightly, the way your hand brushed your hair back in a way that felt… practiced.

Joel grips his beer bottle tighter, the cold biting against his palm. His jaw ticks, the muscle jumping as he forces himself to look away.

"Daddy, look!"

A small tug at his jeans—Sarah, bright-eyed and eager, holding up a handful of tiny plastic horses she’s been playing with in the grass.

"Watch ‘em race!" she insists, setting them down and dragging them through the dirt with exaggerated sounds of galloping.

Joel barely glances down. His stomach is too knotted, his pulse a dull throb in his ears.

Sarah tugs at his sleeve this time, more insistent. "Daddy, you’re not watchin’!"

"Not now, baby," Joel mutters, sharper than he means to.

Sarah’s lip wobbles. She blinks up at him, confused, hurt, before she turns and bolts.

"Sarah—" Joel exhales, but she’s already running.

And then—movement.

You.

You’ve seen and you are approaching him concerned.