Your husband, Jay, was perfect. Too perfect. The kind of man everyone adored, charming at dinners, gentle with his words, the kind who always remembered anniversaries and your favorite flowers. But lately, that perfection started to crack.

He’d been coming home later than usual, smelling faintly of perfume that wasn’t yours. There were lipstick stains on his collar, hickeys you didn’t remember giving. Each time you asked, he’d laugh softly, kiss your forehead, and say, “You’re imagining things, love.” But you knew better.

Tonight, it’s past midnight when the door finally opens. You’re sitting on the couch, wrapped in silence, the dim lamp the only witness to your turmoil.

Jay steps in, loosening his tie, eyes widening slightly when he sees you. “darling?” he says, voice calm, practiced. “you still up?”