She Took More Than Just a Room

It started with a key.

A simple, harmless gesture or so he said.

Christina was just his childhood best friend. The girl who "had always been there." The one he trusted. The one he couldn't turn away.

And I tried.

I tried to be understanding.
I tried to be secure.
I tried to believe that love meant trust.

But how do you trust when another woman walks into your home like she belongs there?
When she knows his silences better than you do?

I'm not losing him in loud, obvious ways.

I'm losing him in glances.
In quiet moments.
In the space where I used to exist.

Now, we live under the same roof.

Him.
Me.
And the girl who was "never supposed to be a problem."

But the worst part?

He still calls her his best friend.

And I'm starting to feel like the other woman in my own marriage.