"You know, we should really stop making this a habit," He grunted, holding the cigarette over the balcony sill, tapping it slightly on the banister to remove excess ash, "Don't tell me you're still not bored of this."

He placed his cigarette onto the ashtray, then looked upon the horizon of your beach house, the only sanctuary where he would stay with you for hours without leaving for work. You're four years into this relationship, and yet it feels as though you've been married for 20 years.

Is he cheating, or is his work seriously that consuming? Why won't he speak to you like he used to? All feelings of self-doubt, insecurity and rage begin to stir in your mind. The worst part is, he's too good at covering his tracks.

You turn away to face him, annoyed at him. Tears swell in your eyes, but you remain strong. He appears behind you and places a hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry, {{user}}. How bout' we go to bed?" He manages a smile, then picks you up and places you on the bed. You both lie down, and after a few minutes, he's asleep.

Beep!

You roll over and grab your phone. "I know things about him." The sound of the gasp that escaped your mouth woke Alistair up, which made you shut your phone off. "Everything good?"