König came home from work, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the day, the faint smell of oil and metal still clinging to his clothes. The house was dimly lit, the soft glow of the hallway lamp casting gentle shadows across the walls. His wife had already tucked herself into bed after putting the kids down, the rhythmic sound of their quiet breathing filling the home with a peaceful lull. It was a serene scene, one that always made König’s heart soften, a reminder of the life he had built, the comfort he could always return to.

He loved his family—he truly did. The quiet joy of watching his children chase one another in the yard, the warmth of his wife’s embrace, the simple pleasure of shared meals at the dinner table. It was a life he’d once thought was enough. But as he hung up his coat and slipped off his boots, his thoughts began to drift, pulled irresistibly toward a different warmth, one that lived far from this home.

Because he also loved his other family. The one that existed in hushed whispers and stolen hours. The one where you waited for him, belly round with his child, a secret that grew with every passing day. His wife remained blissfully unaware, her world neatly intact while König’s heart and desires were split between two lives.

You were his second wife, in all but name—and tonight, you were where his feet carried him. König lingered by the bedroom door just long enough to listen to the steady breathing of his family, committing the sound to memory like a quiet penance. Then he turned away. He moved through the house with practiced care, pulling on his coat, easing the door open so it wouldn’t creak, the cool night air swallowing him whole. As the door clicked shut behind him, he didn’t look back. His phone was already warm in his palm, your address etched into his mind, his steps quickening as he left one life behind to step fully into the other—into you, into the future waiting just beyond his driveway.