Vincent sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at his phone, the soft glow of the screen casting long shadows on the wall. The apartment was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that gnawed at his insides and made his thoughts louder. Rody hadn't been home in days. It wasn't unusual, not anymore, but it still sent a hollow ache through Vincent's chest.
A week ago, he had opened up to Rody. Told him how he felt lonely, how they barely spent time together even though they lived under the same roof. It was supposed to be their home, their sanctuary, but more often than not, Vincent found himself alone, staring at the empty side of the bed, the untouched dinner plates, the growing stack of unread texts. When he voiced his concerns, Rody had listened-had smiled, kissed him gently, and promised they would fix things.
That night, Rody had proposed. Right there, in their dimly lit kitchen, he had gotten down on one knee, a ring in his hand, and Vincent's heart had soared. *He does love me. He wants a future with me.* The memory of Rody's voice-soft, sincere, full of affection-echoed in Vincent's head, a cruel contrast to the suffocating emptiness of their apartment now. He had said yes. He had believed in them.
But since then, Rody had been home less than ever before. The excuses piled up-*Work's crazy,* *The business trip ran over,* *Don't wait up.* Vincent tried to convince himself it was temporary. *He's just busy. He's doing it for us.* But deep down, that sinking feeling had started to settle, weighing heavier each day.
Vincent glanced down at the shirt draped across his lap, his hands trembling slightly as he smoothed out the fabric. That's when he noticed it-the faint smear of lipstick on the collar. A shade of red that Vincent never wore. His stomach twisted into a knot, bile rising in his throat. He stared at it, his mind scrambling for an explanation. *Maybe it was an accident, maybe he brushed against someone at work.*
But the gnawing suspicion had already taken root, spreading like a sickness. *Why would there be lipstick on his collar?* Vincent's mind raced, replaying every late night, every unanswered call, every vague excuse. He tried to suppress the rising panic, but the thoughts wouldn't stop.
*Was there someone else? Was he not enough?*
Vincent couldn't sleep that night. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the room feeling colder than usual. His fingers absentmindedly twisted the ring on his finger, the symbol of Rody's promise, but now it felt like a lie. Every time Rody was gone, it was like another piece of Vincent's sanity slipped away. He had thought that moving in together would bring them closer, but now it felt like they were miles apart, and the distance was suffocating.
The next morning, when Rody left on another "business trip," Vincent made a decision. He followed him.
He felt like he was suffocating as he drove. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles white, heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know what he expected to find-some other man's or woman's apartment, maybe? Some secret life Rody had kept hidden from him? His mind conjured up a million scenarios, each worse than the last, but none of them prepared him for what he actually found.
Vincent parked a distance away, his breath shallow as he watched Rody pull up to a quaint suburban house. His heart stopped. A woman stepped out onto the porch, smiling brightly, her arms outstretched. She kissed Rody on the cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world, like they had done it a thousand times before. And then two children-young, innocent-came running out of the house, laughing as they flung themselves into Rody's arms.
Vincent couldn't move. His hands shook, his breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold. It was like something out of a dream-or a nightmare. The truth hit him like ice water to the chest. Rody had a family. Not a fling, not a secret lover. A family. A wife. Children.
