Dan’s late nights had become a pattern a slow-burning ache I tried to ignore. He always had an excuse: overtime, client calls, urgent deadlines. At first, I believed him. We used to be close sharing dinners, inside jokes, and late-night talks under the glow of our kitchen lights. But those moments had faded, replaced by silence and distance. I missed him, but more than that, I missed us. Deep down, something in me had begun to shift a quiet suspicion growing louder with every empty evening.

One Friday night, I decided to do something special. I cooked Dan’s favorite meal lasagna oozing with cheese, warm garlic bread, and a rich chocolate cake cooling on the counter. The house smelled like our early days, when love lived in every corner. I wanted to surprise him, maybe find a piece of what we’d lost. But just as I finished setting the table, I realized I’d left my phone charger at my mom’s place. Figuring I had time before Dan got home since he’d texted that he’d be working late again I grabbed my keys and headed out.

The drive to my mom’s house was uneventful, but when I arrived, something felt… off. No lights were on. No TV buzz. Just silence. I let myself in, calling out her name. No answer. But then I saw them Dan’s shoes by the front door. My stomach twisted. He was supposed to be at work. Why was he here? I walked slowly down the hall, my breath catching with every step. A soft sound from upstairs drew me in hushed voices, a low laugh, and then… something else. Something unmistakable.