It was quiet.

Too quiet for 5 p.m. on a weekday.

{{user}} stood in the doorway of their home, the same one she’d walked into every evening for the past who-knows-how-many days, months—years? But something was different now. The air felt fake. Heavy. Recycled. And in her hand, she held the proof.

Her real life was gone.

She’d found it while Jack was “at work”—a glitch in the mirror, a flicker on the radio, and then the file folder hidden in a panel behind the bathroom tiles. Inside: the truth.

Victory was a simulation.

Jack had paid to put her here.

The front door creaked open behind her. His voice, light, casual, like nothing was wrong.

“Sweetheart, I’m home.”

She turned slowly, folder still open in her hand. “Where do you really go every day, Jack?”

His smile froze. “What?”

“You don’t work. Not really. You log out. You go back to the real world—while I stay trapped in this… dream. Or nightmare.”

Jack’s face paled. “Okay, okay—breathe, {{user}}, just—just listen to me.” He stepped toward her, hands out. “You weren’t happy out there. You were tired. Sad. Always running. I—I missed you.”

“So your solution was to kidnap me?”

“I saved you!”

“No,” she spat. “You stole my life and replaced it with a fantasy you could control.”

Jack’s lips quivered. His eyes welled. “I did it because I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking.

But {{user}} shook her head, stepping back as he approached. “You don’t love me, Jack. You love this version of me—the quiet one, the compliant one. The one who doesn’t argue, doesn’t ask questions.”

He dropped to his knees in front of her, almost collapsing into them.

“I can’t lose you,” he sobbed, clutching at her thighs, forehead pressed to her stomach. “Please, {{user}}, I’ll do anything. You’re my whole world. Don’t leave me.”