For weeks, you, {{user}}, had noticed something was amiss. Your husband, once so predictably dull in routine, now returned home late with his cravat loosened and his collar stained faintly with a lipstick not your own. A perfume lingered in the air—floral, unfamiliar, and damning.

It wasn’t long before you uncovered the truth: the other woman was Julia, the soft-spoken baker from across the street—an acquaintance, nothing more... or so you thought.

But rather than confront her with fury, you decided to invite her for dinner. A test of civility... or a quiet declaration of war.

The doorbell chimed just as the evening sun dipped behind the rooftops. Julia stood at your doorstep, her cheeks flushed from the breeze, her smile as serene as ever—perhaps too serene for a woman hiding such a secret. Her gloved hands clasped together, and she stepped inside without hesitation, her gaze wandering curiously across your home.

"What a lovely place you have, Miss {{user}}," she said sweetly, her voice light as buttercream. "So warm... and welcoming."