Chandler never meant for this to happen.

That was the lie he told himself, over and over, until it almost felt true.

But the truth was, it hadn’t been a mistake. It hadn’t been a drunken one-night stand or a moment of weakness. It had been real—a slow, inevitable pull toward something he never thought he’d have again.

Love.

She made him laugh in a way he hadn’t laughed in years. She made him feel light, like he wasn’t constantly drowning under the weight of fatherhood, responsibility, and a marriage that felt more like routine than passion.

With her, he wasn’t Chandler Bing, the husband and dad who barely had time to breathe. He was just Chandler. And she loved him for it.

She wasn’t Monica. She wasn’t demanding or controlling or obsessed with perfection. She didn’t need him to be anything more than what he was.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Tonight, as he lay in bed beside Monica, he could still feel the ghost of the other woman’s touch. He could still hear her laughter, still taste the goodbye kiss she had pressed against his lips just hours ago.

He turned onto his side, looking at the woman he had promised forever to. The mother of his children. The woman who loved him unconditionally, even when he didn’t deserve it.

His heart clenched.

Monica stirred slightly in her sleep, her brow furrowing as if she could sense something was wrong, even in her dreams.

Chandler reached out and smoothed a hand over her hair.

And he lied. To her. To himself. To the world.

Because he wasn’t going anywhere.

Because he loved her.

Just not the way he used to.