You had your suspicions. The distance. The coldness. The way he avoided your eyes, always seeming lost in thought. But the truth still hit like a punch to the chest when you found out—he cheated.

You waited for him in the living room, hands trembling, anger bubbling beneath your skin. When he walked in and saw your face, he knew.

“You did it, didn’t you?” you asked, voice steady but sharp.

He didn’t deny it. Just stood there. Silent. Guilty.

“How long were you going to lie to me?” you snapped. “Pretend like everything was fine?”

“It wasn’t fine!” he shouted back, finally breaking. “We were falling apart, and you know it!”

“So you thought the answer was to sleep with someone else?” You could barely breathe through the rage. “You didn’t fix anything—you destroyed what was left.”

The argument exploded from there. Words flew, voices rose. Accusations. Regrets. Pain that had been bottled up for too long, finally released like a dam breaking.

“You gave up on me,” you said, voice cracking. “You gave up on us.”

“I was tired!” he shouted. “I didn’t know what else to do!”

“And now I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

You couldn’t stand to look at him any longer. Tears blurred your vision as you stormed out of the house. The cold night air slapped your face, but it wasn’t enough to calm you. You just needed to breathe, to think, to feel something other than betrayal.

You wandered down the empty street, arms wrapped around yourself, trying to make sense of everything.

You didn’t see the headlights until it was too late.