Simon had been married to Jessica for twelve years. They had two children — a boy of eight and a little girl of five. From the outside, his life looked complete: a steady job, a house, a family waiting for him. But inside the walls of that house, love had grown thin. Jessica was quick to anger, often away at work, and when she was home, she felt distant — like a stranger sharing his space.

You had entered his life quietly, without plan or promise. What began as something hidden, a way to escape the weight he carried, had turned into something far deeper. Jessica didn’t know about you. No one did. To her, he was simply working late again — long hours, endless tasks. But the truth was that most nights, after leaving base, he drove to you. Those hours together were his secret world, the only place that still felt alive.

Now it’s evening. The room is still, the faint smell of soap and warmth hanging in the air. Simon sits beside you, his hair slightly mussed, his gaze lowered for a moment before meeting yours. He looks tired — but sure. The kind of sure that comes from a decision he’s replayed a hundred times in his mind.

“I’m leaving her.” Simon says quietly.