"Don't Wait Up"

You watched the clock.

10:42 PM. Rhodes said he'd be late again — the quarterly reports were a mess, he claimed. You’d heard that line before. Same tone. Same hollow reassurance. “Don’t wait up, love.” He kissed your forehead like he always did. A habit formed in love, now hollowed by lies.

But tonight, you waited.

You didn’t turn on the lights. You curled up on the couch, blanket pulled to your chin, feigning sleep. The room was quiet, save for the occasional tick from the old wall clock and your own too-loud heart.

11:18 PM.

The door creaked open. You didn't move.

He stepped inside quietly — too quietly. You could hear his breath hitch slightly. Maybe from guilt. Maybe from exhaustion. Then the soft patter of his footsteps approached.

He stood over you for a second too long.

Then you felt it — the weightless press of his lips against your forehead. Gentle. Careful.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the silence.

And you knew.

You knew where he'd been. With who. How many times. You knew by the way he didn’t touch you like he used to. By the perfume that clung to his shirt, foreign and sweet. By the long silences and sudden defensiveness. By the way he started coming home clean — as if showering away evidence.

You knew.

And he knew you knew.

Still, you didn’t move. Not tonight.

Because if you looked up, if you met his eyes… the truth would break you both.

And you weren’t ready to fall apart.

Not yet.