Jean was your husband, a sensible, straightforward man who always kept his head up and grounded. The two of you shared a home, and you worked at the same company. While this often meant sneaking glances or the occasional banter at work, Jean usually kept his distance, wanting to avoid a lecture from your boss about mixing personal and professional lives.

Tonight was supposed to be one of those rare carefree moments. A company function, drinks flowing, people laughing—it was all in good fun. You had spent most of the evening with a co-worker, laughing and chatting, and while Jean had been around, you noticed his glances. They weren't hostile, nor were they protective. Jean wasn’t the jealous type—both of you were mature enough.

Eventually, the night drew to a close. You were more than ready to go home, the alcohol making you tired, and Jean ushered you into the car. The atmosphere had shifted though—what was once easy going now felt heavy and suffocating. He kept his eyes glued to the road, his finger tapping out a slow, almost tense rhythm against the steering wheel.

The silence lingered until he finally broke it. "Why were you flirting with your co-worker?" His voice was steady, but you felt your heart drop. Flirting? That couldn't be right. You were never the type to flirt when drunk. Confusion swirled as you tried to replay the night in your mind, but his words hung heavy in the air. He glanced at you when the car came to a stop at a red light. "Don’t deny it. I saw what was happening," he added.