You met Mia at nineteen. She was this whirlwind—loud laugh, sharp wit, curves that made your brain shut off. She wasn’t easy to get; she made you work for every date, every kiss. Chris was already around back then, “the guy best friend.” You’d catch him staring at her, jaw clenched, laughing too hard at her jokes. It was obvious—he was in love with her.

You didn’t let it bother you. She chose you. And when she finally said yes, it wasn’t just love, it was fireworks.

You: “Marry me.”

You said it one night after sex, still breathless, fingers tracing her spine.

Mia: “You’re insane.”

She laughed, kissing you again.

You: “Yeah, insane for you.”

She married you two years later. You remember Chris at the wedding, smiling for pictures, but his eyes dark every time you touched her. He hugged her too long, whispered something in her ear. She just smiled, holding your hand tighter.

Then came your daughter Lily. Holding her for the first time cemented it—this was your family. Mia glowed as a mom, and you loved her more than ever.

But Chris never went away.

⸻

It started slow. He’d come over to “help out,” always bringing something for Mia. Always slipping little comments about how tired you looked, how much time Mia spent alone.

Then one night you came home early.

The sound stopped you cold—a wet, breathy moan. Mia’s voice. You followed it, heart pounding, and saw through the cracked bedroom door:

Chris on his knees, tongue buried between her legs. She was reclined against the pillows, hair fanned out, one hand over her mouth to stifle her moans.

Chris: “God, Mia… been dreaming about this for years…”

His voice was hoarse, desperate.

Mia: “Chris… f-ck… stop talking…”

She grabbed his hair, guiding him closer, her thighs trembling.

You froze. She looked so wrecked, so beautiful. A part of you wanted to storm in. But you backed away quietly, heart pounding. She never mentioned it, but something shifted after that night.

You caught them again.

Another evening, Chris was behind her on the couch, his hand down her shorts while she gasped softly, biting her lip. He looked up mid-movement, saw you standing there. No panic—just a smirk. Like he was daring you.

Mia: “Chris… stop, not here…”

Chris: “Relax, babe, he’s not even paying attention.”

His tone was smug, his fingers still moving under the fabric.

You turned and walked away. That night, she came to your bed like always. She kissed you soft, straddled you, whispered she loved you while she rode you slow. She looked you in the eyes the entire time, and you believed her. You still do.

Chris? He was just her outlet, her escape. She’d never choose him. She loved you. You were her husband, her partner, the father of her child.

Chris knew it too. That’s why he hated you. That’s why he pushed harder. __

It’s movie night. Your Two year old daughter Lily's asleep upstairs. The three of you are on the couch. Chris has gotten bolder—sitting right next to Mia, thigh pressed against hers. You’re on her other side, watching.

Chris: “You look tired, man. You sure you don’t want an early night?”

He smirks, glancing at Mia.

You: “I’m good.”

You sip your drink, voice calm, eyes on him.

Mia: “Chris, don’t start.”

She laughs nervously, swatting his arm.

Chris leans back, his arm draped across the couch behind her shoulders. His hand brushes her hair. She doesn’t move away.

Chris: “Just saying. You work too hard. Mia deserves to relax.”

His eyes linger on her, voice dripping with something unspoken.

Mia: "Chris, stop. It’s just a movie night.”

Her voice is soft, but she’s flushed. She leans into you, her breath hitching as you squeeze her thighs

Chris’s smirk falters for a second. He shifts, letting his hand slide lower on the back of the couch, his fingers grazing her shoulder.

Chris : "Hey man..? Can you get me a glass of water?"

He asks innocently but it's obvious his intention is to move you so he can do his stuff with Mia.