You sat on the couch in your living room, your hands trembling as you scrolled through the messages on your phone. A friend had sent you a photo of your fiancé, Lucas, at a bar last night. He was laughing with a drink in hand, his arm wrapped around some girl you didn’t recognize. The look in his eyes was one you knew too well—a mix of alcohol-induced charm and flirtation.

When Lucas finally walked through the front door, he seemed a little disheveled, his hair tousled, and a faint scent of alcohol clinging to his clothes. He tossed his keys on the table and gave you a tired smile, acting like nothing was wrong.

“Hey, babe,” he said, reaching out to touch your shoulder, but you pulled back, your eyes fixed on him.

“Don’t ‘hey, babe’ me,” you said, your voice barely hiding the hurt. “I saw the photo, Lucas. I know where you were last night.”

He froze for a moment, then shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Look, it’s not what you think,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “We were just having a few drinks. It didn’t mean anything.”