No answer.
“Before or after you picked your cologne?” I added.
That hit.
I saw it in the way his shoulders dropped slightly.
“I don’t know how it got there,” he said quietly.
“To that point.”
I nodded slowly.
“I do.”
He frowned.
“You stopped choosing me,” I said.
The words didn’t come out angry.
They came out tired.
“You stopped coming home early. You stopped talking. You stopped looking at me like I mattered.”
He opened his mouth, but I kept going.
“And someone else noticed.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
“She made me feel…” he started.
I raised a hand.
“Careful.”
He stopped.
Because we both knew how that sentence ended.
And how dangerous it was.
“I’m not trying to blame you,” he said quickly.
“Good,” I replied. “Because that would be your second mistake.”
He exhaled slowly.
“I just… I didn’t realize how far I’d gone.”
I studied him.
This wasn’t the man from yesterday morning.
That man had been confident. Certain. Almost careless.
This one?
He looked like someone who had finally seen the consequences of his choices—up close, unavoidable, and humiliating.
“You didn’t realize,” I repeated softly.
“No.”
“And now you do.”
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
He blinked.
“Good?” he echoed.
“Yes,” I said.
Because clarity matters.
Even when it comes too late.
He stood up, hesitant.
“So… what now?”
That question hung in the air longer than anything else.
Because this—
This was the real moment.
Not the coffee.
Not the shouting.
Not the humiliation.
This.
The aftermath.
I walked past him, into the hallway, taking my time before answering.
“What do you want?” I asked.
He turned toward me.
“I want to fix this.”
“Why?”
The question caught him off guard.
“Because I love you.”
I held his gaze.
“Is that why you were going to meet her?”
He flinched.
“No.”
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