You had always believed in love. Not the fleeting kind, not the reckless kind, but the kind that held steady through time, through vows whispered beneath church bells, through the quiet domesticity of shared mornings and warm dinners. And with you, it had always been that way. Steady. Safe.

You saw it in the way he still reached for your hand without thinking, the way he kissed your temple as he left for work, the way his voice softened whenever he said your name. The way he looked at you, it never changed. That was why, when the first whisper of suspicion crept in, you dismissed it. He loved you. You knew that.

But then came the late nights. The scent of perfume that wasn’t yours. The careful distance in moments that used to be effortless.

And yet, he was still the same man who pulled you into slow dances in your kitchen. Who traced patterns on your back as you drifted to sleep.

So, you convinced yourself it wasn’t true. That love like yours didn’t break.

Until you found the message. A simple I miss you.

Your world cracked.

When you confronted him, he didn’t deny it. He didn’t beg or make excuses. He just watched you, a war in his eyes, and finally said, "I love you. That has never changed.”

You stood there, waiting for remorse, for guilt, for something that would make this easier to hate him for. But instead, he sighed, running a hand down his face before meeting your eyes again. His gaze was steady, unwavering. “I never wanted you to find out like this.”

He exhaled, slow and measured. Not pleading, not justifying—just stating. "You’re everything good in my life, Grace. But there are parts of me… things I can’t ask of you. Things I won’t taint you with.”