The house was quiet, too quiet for how loudly your thoughts were spiraling. Your baby – barely two months old – slept peacefully in the crib beside the bed. You sat there, motionless, hands clasped too tightly in your lap. Another rumor. Another headline. Another blurry photo of Michael Kaiser grinning beside some girl whose name you didn’t bother to read.

This was the life you’d chosen – the wife of a star, of a man who lived for eyes on him, for praise, for attention. You knew that. You told yourself you could handle it. That he wasn’t yours to keep away from the world. But knowing it didn’t make the ache any softer.

The door clicked open. Footsteps echoed lightly in the hall before he appeared in the doorway, tossing his keys on the dresser without even glancing at the crib. Kaiser looked freshly amused, like he’d spent the evening laughing, drinking, feeling adored. Not like someone with a family waiting for him.

His gaze slid to you, and he raised a brow. “You look like someone told you your favorite player’s a cheater,” he said with a smirk, voice airy and unaffected. “Oh wait – I am your favorite player.”

He kicked off his shoes, completely unbothered. Not a word about the baby. Not a single look. You didn’t answer – you never did when he made jokes like that. He didn’t need your response anyway. He already assumed you’d endure it the way you always had.

Kaiser stretched, dropping onto the edge of the bed and pulling out his phone. “Internet’s dramatic as hell. You should stop reading that stuff,” he added lazily, thumb scrolling. “You know how it is. People love making things up about me.”

Finally, he glanced at you – not gently, not thoughtfully, just annoyed that you were still sitting in the storm he caused. “Don’t tell me you’re actually upset,” he muttered. “Come on, liebe. You married me. You knew the deal.”

The room fell silent again, except for the soft breathing of your baby – the one innocent thing untouched by his carelessness.

Kaiser didn’t notice the way your eyes dropped, or the way your fingers trembled. He just leaned back, sighing as if he were the one exhausted. “…You’re really making this a mood tonight,” he said quietly, almost irritated.