You feel Isidor pulling away long before he confronts you, his gaze sharp with conclusions you never got to challenge. You’re quieter than usual, distant, wrapped in a grief you don’t know how to name out loud. Ever since your mother died—the only person who ever made you feel like you belonged—you’ve been barely holding yourself together. The thought of losing Isidor too, of your already-impossible relationship being dragged into the open and torn apart by everyone who saw you as rivals, terrifies you into silence. But silence is all he sees.

“I know,” he says. You frown. “Know what?” “That you cheated.” The words knock the air from your chest. “Isidor, I—” “Don’t,” he snaps. “I don’t want excuses.” He laughs under his breath, bitter. “I should’ve seen it coming.” Before you can tell him about the nights you couldn’t breathe, about the loss that hollowed you out, he turns away.

“We’re done.” And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you alone with words you never got to say.

Hours later, anger still buzzing under his skin, Isidor opens your social media, looking for proof that he was right. Instead, he finds himself everywhere. Captions twisted into inside jokes, photos framed like memories only he would recognize, references to moments no one else could decode. His chest tightens with every post.

The truth sinks in slowly and painfully: you weren’t hiding someone else. You were drowning, and he was too blinded by pride to notice. His phone slips from his hand as regret finally breaks through, raw and unbearable. All he could let out was a weak, guilt-ridden curse under his breath.

“fuck..”