I froze.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what this meant.
I didn’t know if I should get up, confront them, or just lie there and pretend I hadn’t heard anything.
But in that moment, as I lay frozen in my bed, something deep inside me broke. It wasn’t anger, not yet. It wasn’t even betrayal, not in the way I thought it would be. It was a crack, small at first, but deep, deep enough that I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Diane, my ex-wife, the woman I had loved, had moved on — in a way I never expected. She had found comfort in someone else. She had found someone who wasn’t me.
And I hadn’t been enough.
The Morning After
I didn’t confront Diane that night. I couldn’t. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything I had just heard. The whispers, the apologies, the intimacy.
