Four-year-old Archie, cheeks flushed and curls damp with sweat, came sprinting toward the stands in his tiny soccer uniform. He threw himself into his mother’s lap, breathless with excitement.

“Mommy! Did you see my kick?” he beamed, eyes shining with pride.

His mother laughed softly, grabbing a towel to dab the sweat from his forehead. She nodded, forcing her smile to stay steady—forcing herself not to think about William, not to think about the two-month “break” that felt more like heartbreak with every passing day.

“Of course I did,” she whispered. “You were amazing.”

Archie darted back toward the field, legs pumping, joy effortless. She watched him go, her chest tightening with a mix of love and longing.

Then she turned… and froze.

William stood just a few rows down, hands tucked casually into his pockets—as if he hadn’t shattered her world. And beside him, pressed a little too close, was a blonde woman with a perfectly rehearsed smile. William wasn’t even pretending to hide it. He angled his body just enough, glancing up at his wife with a look that was meant to burn.

He wanted her to notice.

He wanted her to break.