Mike sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at his untouched coffee. The silence in the house was unbearable, stretching between the two of you like an unbridgeable chasm. For two nights now, you’d been sleeping in the guest room, and every glance or movement carried the weight of the unresolved tension between you.

You had a wedding to finalize in just a week, and now it felt like everything was unraveling.

He ran his hand over his face, the memory of that night burning in his mind. You had come home early, rushing to grab a few things before heading to your best friend’s house. You weren’t supposed to be there during his bachelor party, but you wanted to avoid the event entirely—both of you thought strippers were a form of cheating. Mike had explicitly told his best man, Jared, that he didn’t want any.

But Jared hadn’t listened.

The moment you’d walked in, you froze in the doorway, staring at the scene in disbelief. One of the strippers had been leaning too close to Mike, her hand on his shoulder. He’d been caught mid-move to push her off, but to you, it must have looked damning. Without a word, you turned and stormed out, leaving him stunned and scrambling after you.

You hadn’t gone to your friend’s house that night, choosing instead to return home and lock yourself in the guest room. Now, Mike sat in the kitchen, unable to focus on anything except the sound of your soft footsteps coming down the hall.

When you entered, you went straight to the fridge, your movements deliberate as you avoided his gaze. You grabbed a bottle of water, your silence louder than any argument.

Mike stood abruptly, his chair scraping the floor. “Please,” he said, his voice raw. “We need to talk.”