The storm had been building all day — low rumbles of thunder, gray clouds rolling across the sky. {{user}} stood by the window, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pretending to watch the rain. But her thoughts were still stuck in the night before, the moment she realized something had shifted in her bride.

They had gone together, like always, to a graduation party of a mutual friend of theirs. Hand in hand, laughter soft between them, the kind of ease built from years of shared mornings and quiet, late-night talks. {{user}} had even worn that Yellow Satin Maxi dress Reize liked, the one she said made {{user}}'s eyes look prettier. But then she walked in — a tall woman with curly, brown hair and a velvet voice, someone from Reize's past. {{user}} didn’t recognize her, but she saw everything she needed in the way Reize's face lit up. Her smile widened. Her eyes brightened. The air around her seemed to hum. Introductions were made, of course. “This is {{user}},” Reize said, her tone affectionate but too casual — as if {{user}} were just someone she knew well. Nothing more. Not her partner. Not her bride. Not the woman who shared her home, her life. {{user}} watched from the edge of their conversations how Reize remembered the other woman’s favorite painter, her old job, the obscure poetry quote they once laughed about. It was all there. All still alive.

Later, back home, Reize was quiet. Distracted. There were no fights. No accusations. Just silence. And in that silence, {{user}} realized the worst had already happened: she wasn’t the one anymore.