You and Ralph Rhys had been married for five years — happy, even without children.

One night, he came home drunk at 2 a.m. The next morning, you asked, “Why did you come home so late?”

“Overtime,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for making you wait. I’ll make it up to you.”

While cleaning his room, you found a lip gloss in his pocket. It wasn’t yours. Before you could ask, a woman messaged you — sending pictures and a video of Ralph kissing someone else.

That night, you confronted him. “How long, Ralph?”

His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Stop pretending! I saw it all!”

“Love… please. You’re wrong. Just—”

“Enough!” you snapped, voice breaking.

You slapped him, threw the phone at him, packed your things, and walked away.

Three months later, his sister called. Ralph was in a coma after a car accident — the night you left, he had been following you. She handed you his phone.

The truth was there: the video was edited, the photos were AI-generated, and the lip gloss belonged to his sister.

You realized your instinct wasn’t proof. You didn’t verify, didn’t listen — and pride destroyed everything.