You and Henry have been together for years, moving to New York at 19 and 23.

After unpacking, you had dinner near your apartment, where a pretty waitress flirted with him. He wasn’t flirting back—just being his polite, innocent self—but it still stung.

That night, you argued, hurt even if you were wrong. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, you watched him pace.

“I didn’t flirt back. You know I wouldn’t,” he said, keeping his tone steady, running a frustrated hand through his hair.