It wasn’t very obvious at first. He’d get random calls late at night and sneak out of the bedroom to answer it but you always assumed that it was work. You trusted him after all.

Gradually though, you noticed he was on his phone a lot more. Texting more than usual. Turning his phone away from you when you sat too close. Putting it face down when he walked away. He seemed to tense up whenever you peered over his shoulder, an innocent act, and then put his phone down quickly as he locked it. Still though…you swallowed this thought as paranoia. Maybe you were overthinking it.

Then he’d get home late. First it was 10PM. Then 11PM. Then somehow he’d always get home a little after 1AM. Leaving you in your shared bedroom deep in thought, trying to convince yourself that it was just work. His demanding job.

But your suspicions were proven right when he walked through the door one night with his white button up disheveled and a light purple tinge on his neck. It was small…but nonetheless it was a hickey.

It was past 12am as he stood in the living room, fixing his shirt slowly as he looked at you hesitantly. “I said you didn’t need to wait up for me.” He says a bit shakily as his hand presses against his neck, as if to hide what you already saw. “We should get to bed.”