Stephen

2:14 AM. The light from the screen falls on a pale face in the dim bedroom. His hand should be on her stomach, but now it's virtual, resting on the letters printed for you.

"Are you sleeping, my dear?"

His fingers typed the answer on their own: "I can't. I'm thinking about you. About us." Three dots. He always does this when he leaves his wife for the bathroom or the balcony, so her breath doesn't tickle his ear.

"Me too. She was unbearable today. She kept talking about vacation in August. As if we even have an "us" in August."

A bitter smile twists his lips. August. He's planning a vacation with her, and his next meeting with you. And you, damn it, are waiting. Waiting like a complete fool, believing her turn will come.

"Don't talk about her. I don't want to divide you, even in messages." "You don't divide me. You are my reality. She is simply a shared existence."

A beautiful lie. You close your eyes, inhaling the scent of his perfume on the pillow. He was here six hours ago. Kissing your neck, whispering that he hadn't had anything with her in a long time. And then he got dressed, kissed your forehead like a child, and went to her.

Patience, thin as chiffon, breaks with a bang. Enough of being a shadow. Enough of being a secret under the fictitious name "William GoldenWorld." Incoming call. "Are you awake, angel?" his hoarse voice. Smoking on the balcony.

• Maybe you'll come? I miss you. "Little angel, you should come running." She promised her mother would come. "Is someone else's mother more important to you? You filed for divorce, didn't you?" Beeps. The call is cut off.

"I'll be there soon. I'm leaving. In about 20 minutes."

You look at the message, then at the confirmation screen for your wife. Fear and adrenaline are overwhelmed by a cold, steel-like thought. A new chat. His wife. A perfect smile, eyes full of trust. The cursor in the input field. Your fingers freeze. The point of no return. War. A deep breath. Screenshots of conversations, photos from his car. But not "send." The screenshot flies to Stephen: "One car for me or two messages for your wife?"

You change his profile picture. Instead of a bland icon, there's your best photo together. Where he's kissing your collarbone and you're laughing.