My husband was out cold.

Middle of the night, his phone lit up on the nightstand—chat app blowing up.

I leaned over and grabbed it, quiet as a breath.

Messages from someone named 'Viv.' Her last one? [Goodnight, Matt.]

I had my fingerprint saved, but I'd never used it. Six years of trust. Six years of believing he was loyal—maybe too awkward to cheat.

But something felt off. So I tapped in.

And just like that, I opened Pandora's box. My heart? Tanked.

Matthew's new assistant? She called him 'Matt.' Not Mr. Langford.

They were on cozy terms. He fixed her leaky rental, hauled in her oversized water jugs, even helped clean up her data messes.

And then it escalated.

A pregnancy test popped up on his phone. Right next to a photo of them together.

He was smiling—soft, tender, like he actually cared.

Then I saw the kicker: a chat with his buddy where he said, [Peyton's great and all, but eating the same thing every day... it gets old.]

***

My fingerprint was saved on his phone, but hey—six years of trust kept me from ever actually using it. I mean, I thought he was loyal. Maybe even too awkward to pull off cheating.

But that night, curiosity won. I tapped in.

Boom. Pandora's freaking box. My heart just detonated.

Viv. That was her name in his contacts. Her profile pic? Full-on cute-girl-next-door vibes—big eyes, baby face, the whole package. Totally his type.

My chest tightened as I scrolled. All the way back to message one—six months ago.

[Mr. Langford, hello! I'm the new intern and your assistant going forward! Please take care of me.]

He'd been cold then. Just shot back a [Mm.]

But Viv? Oh, she was relentless. Constant updates like:

[We're working on a game project—you've gotta keep up with the youth! Look, here's me at an anime expo.]

[That takeout place sucked. Avoid it!]

[This song is everything! You have to hear it!]

She even brought me up:

[Mrs. Langford is so pretty and gentle. Mr. Langford, you're really lucky!]

Yeah. That's what cracked him open. Compliment me once, and suddenly she's getting full sentences.

Polite turned into flirty. Cold turned into clingy.

On a business trip to Jaspan, he brought her along. Their rooms were only a wall apart, but they still made sure to say goodnight. Every. Single. Night.

It became their thing.

Anytime a project wrapped, he'd take her out to celebrate—solo. No team. No awkward "should we invite anyone else?" Just them.

Then there was Hawthorne Bay. He struggled to find the purse I wanted—struggled—but somehow still had the brain space to grab her favorite toner.

[I didn't know which one you used. Finding the counter was a pain, so I just bought them all. Pick your fave.]

[Wow! Mr. Langford, you're the best!]

He brought back gifts—for me and for her. No one else. Not even his mom. She asked for a scarf and he hit her with:

[Mom, come on. My schedule was insane. It was too much trouble.]

He did get his mom a pricey custom scarf later—but it didn't hit the same.

Meanwhile, helping Viv with her busted apartment? Lugging her giant water jugs? Fixing her disaster spreadsheets?

No problem.

She'd microwave lunch for him, bring fruit for the office, tag along to every work event.

Then one night, after a few drinks, she dropped a message she'd never say out loud:

[Mr. Langford, you're like a brother to me. Can I call you 'Matt' from now on?]

A "brother." Right.

By the time I hit that last message, my hands wouldn't stop shaking. I could barely breathe. It felt like I'd been sucker-punched.

I put the phone back on the nightstand and just laid there, staring at the ceiling till morning.

When Matthew woke up, he pinched my cheek like everything was fine and brushed away the leftover tears on my face.

"You stayed up late watching dramas again?" he said. "C'mon, don't cry. It's all fake—they always get a happy ending."

I didn't say a word. Just rolled out of bed like I didn't hear him.

Still tied his stupid tie, though. Like always.

He gave me this soft, pitying look, kissed my forehead—slow and gentle, like he still cared. "Go back to sleep, okay? Don't stay up so late. I worry about you."

And for a second, staring into those familiar eyes, I actually almost believed last night was just some twisted dream.

Like maybe he still loved me.

"It's your birthday today, so I'll let you off the hook," he said. "Might be busy tonight, but I'll try to come home early."

I froze.

Her messages flashed through my head again.

[Matt, remember to help me set up the desktop tomorrow.]

[We're playing that co-op game together!]

[Goodnight!]

Right. The new trending couple's game. They had plans.

I grabbed his wrist, my voice shaking. "You haven't really spent time with me in forever. Not even today?"

He hesitated. Then smiled like nothing was wrong and ruffled my hair. "Of course I'll come home early. But there's a lot going on at work. Be good. Wait for me."

Then he peeled my hand off like it meant nothing.

And just like that, my heart shattered.

I used to pull all-nighters gaming with him when we were building the company from scratch. I couldn't sleep, but I still stayed up with him.

Later, I started having trouble sleeping at night.

He used to worry about me. Gave up our dream of turning the spare room into a gaming setup because I couldn't handle the sleep schedule.

Now he's out here building that exact setup—for her. Playing couple's games like it's their thing.

The door clicked shut, and my brain just... shut down with it.

He still left.

Matthew still left.

I sat there for hours, empty and starving, until my stomach actually cramped. I ordered takeout—all our old favorites. Forced it down.

Then threw it all back up.

Everything I gave up for him during those early grind years? Yeah. It all came back to haunt me.

Four years dating. Two years married. Most of it spent helping him build the company from the ground up.

I schmoozed with investors, toasted with strangers, drank till I puked just to keep him moving forward.

Then the company went public. And surprise—turns out years of bad sleep and heavy drinking aren't great for your body.

Doctor said I needed to rest. Gain weight. Get healthy if I ever wanted a baby.

So I stepped back. Became the perfect little housewife.

I was trying. Trying to build a life with him. A family.

He was all I had left. My parents died in a car crash on their way to visit me. Just gone.

I had nowhere to put that grief, so I poured everything into this tiny family.

But now? The baby wasn't coming.

And Matthew was slipping away too.

I kept vomiting until there was nothing left in me—literally and emotionally. Then I collapsed on the couch and let the ache in my chest crawl into every inch of me.

I don't even know how long I sat there. Just... stuck.

Eventually, night swallowed the room.

Then my phone lit up.

I jumped—thought maybe, finally, it was him.

It wasn't.

Just a message from an unknown number.

A pregnancy report. And a photo.

Matthew was in it.

Smiling.

Posed. Happy.

My chest caved in. The tears hit hard, fast—huge and burning.

My phone slipped from my hand and cracked against the floor.

But not before I saw the full name on the report.

Vivian Blake.

Just like I thought last night.

Out of all the interns from six months ago, she stood out. Like a little sunbeam—bright, bubbly, fake as hell.

Always orbiting around me, all, "Peyton, can I ask you something?" with those wide, innocent eyes. Pretending to need advice about "relationships." Please.

And I told her—smiling, clueless—"You get what you give."

Guess I gave her my marriage.

Don't know what hit me, but I grabbed my phone and deleted those two messages.

Then I just sat there. Quiet. Numb. Waiting for Matthew to come home like a total fool.

Midnight crept in. I kept calling. Straight to voicemail.

Time ticked past twelve. My legs were completely numb when the door finally opened.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," Matthew said, like nothing was on fire. "I dropped the cake on the way back, had to get another one made. Took a bit longer. Happy birthday!"

He held up the cake like it was some grand gesture. Then pulled out a dainty little gift box.

Diamond bracelet. Just like last year's—same energy, slightly tweaked design.

I held out my wrist so he could clasp it on. Smiled. Let tears blur my vision.

At least he still put effort into the lie. At least I got something. Yay me.

I pretended everything was fine. Helped him cut the cake. We lit two candles—for two years of marriage.

Then I saw it. The fruit.

Mango.

I froze.

Matthew noticed instantly. "What's wrong?"

He asked again. And again. But my heart had already dropped into the abyss.

Back in high school, our teacher brought a giant mango cake to celebrate the SATs. Everyone lost it, smearing cake everywhere like it was a food fight from a coming-of-age movie.

It was fun—meant to be good luck.

Matthew joined in—smeared it right across my face.

Too bad I'm allergic to mango.

I ended up in the hospital for a week, face swollen beyond recognition.

He cried back then. Literally sobbed. Held my swollen face and promised:

"I'll remember everything. From now on, what matters to you matters to me."

And he meant it. When he couldn't even afford a decent phone, he stuck post-its all over his desk.

[Peyton doesn't eat cilantro.]

[Peyton hates ginger.]

[Peyton likes spicy and sour.]

[Peyton is allergic to mango.]

When he finally got a smartphone, those notes became his lock screen.

But now? His lock screen's the default one. Blank. Like I never existed.

When did that change?

Probably around the time Vivian Blake started calling him 'Matt.'

"Peyton?"

His voice snapped me out of it. Still soft. Still concerned.

And despite everything—despite knowing better—his face still made my chest ache.

"I'm fine," I said.

He didn't believe me. Of course he didn't. Pulled me into a hug, whispering, "It's okay. You can tell me anything. If something's wrong, I'll fix it. But if you don't say it, how will I know?"

For a second, I nearly told him.

But I didn't.

I just smiled.

And shook my head.