“Do you like them?” I asked, kissing him on the cheek.

Inside, I shook.
Outside, I smiled.

“They look great on you,” he mumbled, before disappearing into the bathroom for what felt like forever.

I studied myself in the mirror and wondered if I’d broken… or finally broken free.

Seven years together. Four married.
We’d gone from laughter to silence.
From connection to excuses.

And I blamed myself for the distance.

Until that night.

Because that lingerie wasn’t a mistake.
It was a message.

So I didn’t confront him.
I watched.
Quietly.

The phone, once forgotten, now never left his side.
New cologne.
Evening gym trips.
Passwords changed.

I took notes.
I waited.

Then came the lie that broke it wide open.
“Milo needs help setting up his new TV.”

Funny. Milo was in Santorini. Instagram said so.