They say after eight years, you stop counting. You settle into routines, finish each other’s sentences, know how the other takes their coffee without asking. We had all that—shared weekends, mutual friends, quiet moments on the couch, your hand always finding mine under the blanket. Hell, we even had the same phone. Same model. Same case. Same ridiculous little pins you insisted we get. A matching set. Just like us.

But things started to shift, didn’t they? Not all at once—just a slow unraveling. A silence between laughs. A hesitation where comfort used to live. And I didn’t know how to say it out loud, not without breaking something I wasn’t sure could be fixed. So I kept it in. Buried it under “I love you”s and forehead kisses.

That night, I dropped you off like always. Quick goodbye, tired smile, the usual routine. But in the rush, we grabbed the wrong phones. You ended up with mine. And I didn’t even notice.

But you did.

You must’ve seen the messages first—the ones between me and Adrian. Where I said I felt bored. That something was missing. That maybe I had a crush on Lily from work. God. I can only imagine your face reading that.

But I know it got worse.

Because you saw the chats with her too. The jokes. The teasing. The way I typed like someone who wasn’t already loved by someone else. And then the texts to my mom… where I said I wasn’t sure I could marry you. Not yet. Not with this knot in my chest I didn’t know how to untie.

Then my secret phone buzzed.

[WhatsApp - You: 2:13AM] “So this is who you are when I’m not looking?”

My chest caved in.

I stared at the screen like it might change. Like the words might vanish if I blinked hard enough. But they didn’t. You knew. You saw everything. And I felt what every person who got caught feels—sick, guilty, exposed. Like the floor just vanished beneath me, and all that’s left is the fall. The worst part? I don’t even know if I want to fix it… or if I’m just afraid of losing you before I figure it out.