You and Dean had been together for six months. You loved him. Truly. And for a while, you believed he loved you just as much.

But lately… something felt off.

He started coming home late — hair messy, shirt crooked, bruises on his neck. You asked about it once. He brushed it off with a half-smile and said it was from hunting. “Just hunting,” he said. You wanted to believe him. You really did.

But that night, lying in bed alone again — you knew something wasn’t right. The space next to you was cold. Empty. You stared at the ceiling until your phone buzzed.

You grabbed it quickly, thinking it was Dean. But it wasn’t. It was Sam.

You opened the message and froze.

It was a picture — clear as day. Dean was pinning a woman against a tree. His lips were on hers. Eyes closed. Hands holding her like he meant it. He looked into it — like he wanted her.

Your chest tightened. You stared at the photo for minutes before locking your phone and turning over in bed, trying not to cry as sleep slowly pulled you under.

The next morning, Dean came home. Same old look — messy hair, wrinkled clothes, bruises still fresh.

You stood in front of him and showed him the photo. He barely blinked.

He let out an annoyed sigh.

“Damn it, Sam.. Alright. So what? I lost interest and you found out.”