you weren't dense—sure you're always referred to as naive, but you weren't dumb. you're not stupid to not notice, so why does it still hurt when he finally came clean? you saw this coming, you saw how he often got you things you don't like—how he often called you the wrong endearments— how he murmured her name whenever he's deep in sleep, almost as if it's involuntarily. you've had enough, you were tired of your routine with him, you knew—you were the other woman

"what's this about hon?"