The candles on the birthday cake were still flickering when Brenda’s world caught fire.

She stood in the doorway of her husband’s corner office, the lights of downtown Los Angeles glittering behind him like a thousand witnesses. In her hands was a small white box from his favorite bakery, tied with a blue ribbon she’d reused from last year to save a couple of dollars. She’d felt guilty that he was “working late” on his birthday, so she’d decided to surprise him.

Instead, she was the one who got surprised.

A woman she’d never seen before was perched on the edge of his mahogany desk, blouse half-buttoned, lipstick smudged. Her legs dangled just above the floor, and between them was her husband—Richard—shirt untucked, tie loose, mouth hovering way too close to a place no married man’s mouth should be near at 10 p.m. on a Wednesday.

The cake slipped from Brenda’s fingers and hit the carpet with a dull thud. Frosting smeared across the beige fibers like a crime scene.

“Brenda—” Richard jerked back as if someone had pulled a fire alarm. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to straighten his tie and his face at the same time. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

The other woman slid off the desk, smoothing her skirt as if this was all mildly inconvenient.

“Who’s this?” she asked, bored.

“My wife,” Brenda said before her husband could choke out the word.

The woman’s eyes dropped to Brenda’s bare left hand. “I don’t see a ring,” she said with a little smirk.

Brenda stared back, feeling something old and raw twist inside her chest. “I sold it,” she said quietly. “A long time ago. For him.”

Richard’s jaw tightened. “Brenda, we’ll talk about this later, okay? I’ll see you later,” he told the woman, who grabbed her purse and walked out as if she were leaving a dentist appointment, not the scene of a marriage detonating.

The door clicked shut behind her.

“So this is what you’ve been doing,” Brenda said, voice shaking. “All those nights you said you were working late. All those beds I slept in alone so you could ‘get ahead.’”

Richard exhaled heavily, walking around to the other side of the desk like he needed the wood between them to feel powerful again.

“Look,” he said, raising both hands. “I hate to break it to you, but every successful man cheats. That’s how it is. You put in the work, you put in the hours, you build something big, and you… upgrade. It’s just reality.”

Brenda blinked. “Every successful man?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You think the CEOs in Silicon Valley are going home to the same woman who was with them when they were coding in their mom’s basement? Come on. I’m a CEO now. I need someone who looks the part. Not someone who looks…” His eyes flicked over her thrift-store blazer and dark circles. “…old and tired all the time.”

She almost laughed. It came out as a gasp instead.

“I’m the one who made you successful,” she said.

He scoffed. “What are you talking about? You made me successful?”

She stared at him, and suddenly she wasn’t in the corner office anymore. She was back in their first apartment in Van Nuys, the one that smelled like burnt toast and ambition.

Who do you think stayed up with you all night when you were just starting your business? she thought.

“Who do you think stayed up with you all night when you were just starting your business?” she said out loud.

He opened his mouth, closed it again.

Back then, it had been a folding card table instead of a mahogany desk, a battered secondhand laptop instead of a sleek silver one. He’d been hunched over a spreadsheet, rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, honey,” she’d said, padding in from the tiny kitchen with two chipped mugs. “I made you another coffee. Extra sugar, the way you like it.”

He’d looked up, surprised. “Laine… what are you still doing up?”

She’d smiled. “I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out here working alone. How’s it going?”

“Stupid spreadsheet,” he’d muttered. “I’ve been stuck on this all day. I can’t make the numbers work. It’s like they’re mocking me.”

“Let me take a look,” she’d said, sliding the laptop toward her. She’d always been good with numbers. Her community college professor had told her she could make a career out of accounting before life and bills had steered her a different way.

She’d scanned the screen, fingers tapping the trackpad.

“There,” she’d said, fixing one formula, dragging a cell, hitting Enter.

The numbers had shifted, the red turning into cautious green.

“That’s it?” he’d said, stunned. “I’ve been working on that for hours.”

She’d grinned. “Anything for the man I love,” she’d said. “I’m staying up with you. We’re in this together.”

He’d pulled her into a hug, smelling like coffee and determination.

“And then,” Brenda said now, voice steadying as she spoke, “there was the time you almost gave up because we’d run out of money.”

He looked away.

Their rent had been past due. The mailbox had been nothing but bad news—a stack of final notices from the power company, the gas company, the credit card no one should’ve given them but did.

“Another bill?” he’d said back then, flipping it open. “How am I supposed to pay this? It’s over. I’m giving up. This business is never going to work. I have to get a job. Something steady. I can’t keep doing this to us.”

“No,” she’d said, grabbing the envelope from his hand. “You are not giving up on your dream.”

“You don’t understand,” he’d said. “I spent all the money we had on this stupid business. I gambled our whole future on something that’s clearly not working. We’re going to lose the apartment. I have to stop.”

She’d disappeared into the bedroom without a word.

When she came back, she’d had cash in her hand. Crumpled bills. Savings that didn’t exist the last time they’d checked the account.

“Here,” she’d said, pressing it into his palm.

“Where did this come from?” he’d asked, baffled.

She’d opened her fist to show him her bare finger.

“I sold my wedding ring,” she’d said simply. “Money’s been tight. I knew you were hanging on by a thread, and I didn’t want that thread to break. I don’t need a ring to know how much you love me. But I need you to follow through on your dream. That’s more important to me than a piece of jewelry.”

He’d stared at her like she’d hung the moon.

“You did that… for me?” he’d whispered.

“I would do it again,” she’d said. “And again. Until this works.”

“I’ll never forget this,” he’d said, eyes shining. “I promise. When I get successful, I’ll buy you any ring you want. Bigger than this whole apartment. You’ll see.”

“So you see,” Brenda said now, standing in his office with dried cake on her shoes, “I sacrificed everything for you, Richard. I lost sleep. I lost my ring. I lost years of my life so you could stand in front of this window and call yourself a CEO. And this is how you treat me.”

He shrugged, as if she’d just described a minor inconvenience.

“What did you think?” he said. “That I’d work this hard, become this successful, and stay the same? That’s not how it works. This is America. People evolve. My life evolved. I’m in rooms now where image matters. I need someone who looks good on my arm, not someone who looks like she’s been working the night shift at a grocery store.”

She didn’t cry.

Something inside her had already snapped clean.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words hollow. “But it’s over. Brenda, it’s over.”

She set the small box on his desk gently, the one with the cake that never got eaten.

“Happy birthday, Richard,” she said. “Have a good life. With whoever you decide makes you look good today.”

Then she turned and walked away, leaving frosting and history behind her.

For a while, the universe let him believe he’d made the right choice.

Without Brenda’s watchful eyes and quiet questions, there was no one to say, “Maybe don’t buy the sports car yet,” or “Do you need bottle service twice a week?” His new girlfriend—Tara—loved rooftop bars and designer labels. She knew nothing about spreadsheets and everything about selfies.

“Babe, I need that bag,” she’d say, lips pouting as they walked past a boutique in Beverly Hills. “The one with the logo all over it.”

“Put it on the card,” he’d say, enjoying the way the salespeople tripped over themselves when they recognized him from a tech magazine spread.

When the late notices started again, they didn’t arrive in a rusty mailbox in Van Nuys. They pinged his inbox. He ignored them. When the investors called for updated reports, he forwarded the emails to his assistant and went back to his third round of whiskey.

The day the bank froze his line of credit, Tara scrolled through her phone, looked at him, and said, “So… you’re, like, broke broke?”

“It’s temporary,” he lied. “Just a cash flow issue.”

“We should probably take a break,” she said, standing up and slinging her designer bag over her shoulder. “I’m not trying to be with someone the blogs are calling ‘that failed founder.’ Call me when you’re back on top.”

She didn’t answer when he did call.

Within a year, Wattage Solutions filed for bankruptcy. The office with the view went to a new tenant. The car got repossessed in a supermarket parking lot while he stood there with a bag of discounted groceries, watching strangers film it on their phones.

Two years later, he saw her again.

He was crossing a downtown street in jeans that didn’t fit as well as they used to when a sleek, silver SUV slid into a parking spot near the curb. The kind of car he used to test drive “just to see.”

“Brenda,” he called before he could stop himself.

She turned.

For a second, he thought he’d gotten the name wrong. The woman in front of him looked like the high-definition version of the wife he’d thrown away. Her hair was shorter, effortless. Her clothes fit in a way that said “tailored,” not “on sale.” There was a quiet confidence in the way she stood, like she’d stopped asking permission for her own life.

“Richard,” she said. No anger. No tremble. Just his name.

“You look… incredible,” he said. “Do you have a second to talk?”

“I’m actually late for a meeting,” she said, checking her watch. “But we can walk. Two blocks.”

He fell into step beside her.

“Listen,” he started. “Ever since you left me, I can’t stop thinking about you. About everything you did for me. I was an idiot. I know that. I lost the business. The car. Tara. Everything. And I was thinking maybe we could… try again. Start over. Maybe?”

She looked at him for a long moment.

“I thought I was too old and tired for you,” she said. “What happened to your secretary? The one who made you look good?”

“She left,” he said. “As soon as the money did.”

He gestured helplessly at his worn shoes. “Honestly… ever since you left, everything went downhill. I lost my business. My reputation. And then I saw you and—”

“Is that your car?” he blurted, seeing the SUV again.

“Yeah,” she said. “I just bought it.”

“You… just bought…” He trailed off. “How?”

“After you cheated on me,” she said, “I started my own business. Took everything I learned doing your books, building your systems, cleaning up your messes, and used it for myself. It’s really taken off.”

He swallowed. “I’m happy for you. I really am. So… what do you say? Think we could give it another shot?”

She smiled then, the same smile she’d given him over a coffee mug years ago, only now it was focused on something beyond him.

“Listen,” she said. “I appreciate the offer. I really do. But I don’t think it would ever work out.”

“Brenda, I’ve changed,” he said quickly. “I swear. I’ve learned my lesson.”

She tilted her head.

“Oh,” she said softly. “You didn’t think I’d work this hard just to stay the same, did you?”

Across town, in a modest two-story house just outside Atlanta, another woman was learning the price of loving the wrong man.

“Honey,” she said, stepping into the living room with a small smile, a white stick hidden behind her back. “I have something to tell you.”

He was standing by the window, papers in his hand, expression unreadable.

“Actually,” he said. “I have something to tell you too.”

“Okay,” she said, her stomach flipping. “You first.”

He sighed, like he’d just gotten bad news from the bank. “It’s not easy to say,” he said. “So I’m just going to say it.”

She waited.

“I want a divorce,” he said.

The word slammed into her like a truck.

“Wait. What?” she whispered. “A divorce? Where is this coming from? We were fine yesterday, we were—”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said. “You’re impossible, Emily. Last week, I cooked dinner and you didn’t eat any of it. Do you know how ungrateful that made me feel? I spent time on that meal for you, and you just wrinkled your nose like it made you sick.”

She blinked. “It did make me sick,” she started. “The smell—”

“And yesterday,” he cut in, “I joked that you’d put on a few pounds, and you locked yourself in the bathroom, crying. You know how hard it is to be with someone so sensitive? So emotional? I can’t say anything without you melting down.”

Her fingers tightened around the plastic test behind her back.

“And this morning,” he went on, “I tried to get close to you. To be affectionate. You pushed me away like I was some stranger. It’s like you don’t care about my needs at all. You don’t prioritize me. You don’t prioritize what I want.”

She opened her mouth, closed it.

“After all that,” he said, “I was done. And there’s something else.”

He didn’t look ashamed. That hurt almost as much as the words.

“All I ever wanted was to have a kid,” he said. “A family. And you can’t—or won’t—give me that. So… I’ve been seeing Megan for the past few weeks.”

The room spun.

“Megan?” she choked out. “My best friend Megan?”

“Yes,” he said. “We’re in love. She understands me. She doesn’t overreact to everything. So here.” He pulled a manila envelope from the table and held it out to her. “Divorce papers. The faster you sign those, the faster we can both move on with our lives.”

She didn’t take them.

“Just so you know,” she said, voice trembling but firm, “last week when you cooked dinner… I wasn’t trying to be ungrateful. The smell of the food made me so nauseous I thought I was going to throw up on the table. I had to lock myself in the bathroom to keep it down.”

He frowned. “What does that have to—”

“And yesterday, when you made fun of my weight… I wasn’t trying to be so emotional. My hormones have been all over the place. I cry over commercials now. I hate it. I didn’t know how to stop it.”

“Emily, I don’t—”

“And this morning,” she said, “when you tried to get close… I wasn’t trying to reject you. I’ve been feeling so insecure and unattractive because I know I’ve gained weight. I didn’t want you to see me like that. It had nothing to do with you.”

He stared at her.

“So today, while you were at work,” she said, slowly bringing the white stick out from behind her back, “I decided to take a pregnancy test. I thought maybe it would explain why I’ve been feeling so off lately.”

She turned it so he could see the two pink lines.

“As it turns out,” she said, “I’m pregnant.”

Something crumbled in his expression.

“Em,” he said softly. “I… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. Let’s forget everything I just said. The important thing is you’re pregnant. We’re having a baby. That’s all I ever wanted. We can fix the rest. We can—”

“Well,” she said, cutting him off, “maybe Megan can help you with that.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Now that I know what kind of man you are,” she said, lifting her chin, “the baby and I will be much better off without you.”

She set the test down on the coffee table next to the untouched divorce papers and walked past him, her hand resting for a moment on her still-flat stomach.

Behind her, he said her name.

She didn’t look back.

Thousands of miles away, in a Los Angeles sports bar a block from Crypto.com Arena, another promise was breaking.

The NBA draft played on every TV in the place, fans in jerseys clustered around pitchers of beer, phones recording the moment their teams chose the next “future of the franchise.”

Tony Robinson sat in a VIP booth, his signature grin plastered across the screen as old high school highlights flashed—him hitting game-winners in dusty gyms, him hugging a girl in a faded letterman jacket.

Jada.

She was sitting right beside him now, fingers laced with his, eyes glued to the TV. The same girl who’d waited outside in the rain back when he’d played for free, not for millions.

“So,” he whispered, leaning in. “You really think I’ll make it?”

She smiled. “I don’t think so,” she said.

His face fell.

“I know so,” she added. “I’ve always known. I just…” She looked at him seriously. “I just hope you don’t change when you get there.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Lots of people become famous and forget where they came from,” she said. “Forget who was there before the cameras showed up.”

He took her hand in both of his.

“Listen to me,” he said. “No matter what happens, I’m never going to change. I promise.”

On the screen, the commissioner stepped up to the podium.

“With the second-round pick,” he announced, “the Los Angeles Lakers select… Tony Robinson, UCLA.”

The bar erupted.

Tony grabbed Jada and kissed her, the sound of the crowd blurring into background noise. Cameras flashed. Reporters swarmed. Overnight, he became what he’d always wanted to be: a Lakers draft pick, a real shot at the League.

Within months, everything around him changed. The clothes, the car, the zip code. The parties. The women.

“You’ve really changed,” Jada said one night, cornering him in the VIP section of a club instead of the kitchen of his mom’s apartment. She’d found out from Instagram, not from him, that he was “hanging out” with an influencer who wore more contour than clothes.

“What did you expect?” Tony said, shrugging off the guilt like an oversized jacket. “All famous people cheat. It’s just part of the lifestyle. They throw themselves at me, Jada. I’m a brand now.”

“I supported you when you were nobody,” she said. “When you were playing on outdoor courts with chain nets. I stayed when you had nothing but a duffel bag and a dream. I believed you when you said you’d never change.”

“You’re being dramatic,” he said. “We’re good. This is just… fun. You know you’re my number one.”

She stared at him for a long time, then shook her head.

“Your promises didn’t mean anything,” she said. “Good luck with your new life, Tony.”

She walked away, past the girls lining up for his attention, past the velvet rope, out into the quiet Los Angeles night where nobody was pointing a camera at her.

Without her, the noise got louder.

He started staying out later, drinking more. Missed a practice. Showed up late to a film session. When his coach pulled him aside, he laughed it off, promised to do better.

On a hot Friday night, red and blue lights flashed in his rearview mirror.

“Have you been drinking tonight, sir?” the officer asked.

“I’m Tony Robinson,” he said, flashing his most charming grin. “Lakers.”

The breathalyzer didn’t care.

The cell they put him in later that night was cold. The letter from his agent a week later was colder.

The Lakers were rescinding their offer. There would be no guaranteed contract. No rookie season. No second chances.

He lost everything.

When he ran into Jada outside a grocery store in Inglewood two years later, he barely recognized himself in the reflection of the automatic doors.

“Hey,” he said, swallowing his pride. “Jada.”

She turned, a basket on her arm, a new light in her eyes that had nothing to do with him.

“Tony,” she said. “Wow. I can’t believe it’s you.”

“My whole life went downhill after you left,” he blurted. “I mean, I know I messed up. I know I made mistakes. But… do you think we could try again? Start fresh?”

She opened her mouth, but another voice cut in.

“Hey, baby,” a tall man behind her said, walking up with a grocery bag. “Sorry I took so long. Lines were crazy.”

Tony stared.

It was James Smart. The guy who’d gone one pick before him in the draft. The one everyone said would be “solid, not flashy.” The one who didn’t waste his shot.

“James,” Tony said. “Wow. Jada… you really changed.”

She smiled, slipping her hand into James’ easily.

“Well,” she said. “I’m sorry. But sometimes things don’t work out the way we want them to.”

She gave Tony one last, polite nod.

“Goodbye, Tony,” she said.

James lifted a hand in a small wave. Then they walked away together.

In a suburban restaurant just outside Houston, a woman shrugged off her jacket and thought, for one small second, that maybe tonight would be different.

“There you go, birthday boy,” Ashley said, grinning as she adjusted her boyfriend’s collar. “You look so handsome.”

“Thanks,” James said, checking himself out in the reflective window. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

“I’m so excited to take you out,” she said as they crossed the parking lot. “Oh, it’s so hot. I don’t think I’ll need my jacket tonight.”

She started to slip it off.

“What are you doing?” he snapped.

She froze. “Taking off my jacket? It’s ninety degrees.”

“Put it back on,” he hissed. “Now.”

She stared. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Look at your stomach in that dress,” he said. “I’m not going to be seen with you looking like that.”

Her hand went instinctively to her midsection. “You don’t… like the dress?” she asked. “I bought it just for your birthday dinner.”

“The dress isn’t the problem, Ashley,” he said. “Your weight is. Put the jacket back on and let’s go.”

Heat flooded her face that had nothing to do with Texas weather. Still, she slipped the jacket back on. For him.

Inside, the hostess led them to a table by the window. James was halfway through scanning the menu when a familiar voice called out.

“James!”

He turned. “Roy! What’s up, man?”

They did that half-hug thing guys do, slapping each other on the back.

“How you been?” Roy asked.

“I’ve been good,” James said. “We were just about to have dinner. I don’t think you’ve met my girl. This is Violet.”

He gestured to the thin brunette on his arm. Her dress clung to her like plastic wrap.

“Wow,” Roy said. “This is your girlfriend? Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Violet purred.

Roy’s girlfriend stepped up. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Ashley. Nice to meet you both. You are so pretty.”

“Thanks,” Violet said, already scanning the room for someone more important.

Ashley smiled and waited for the introduction that never came.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Roy’s girlfriend asked, nodding at Ashley.

“She’s just a friend,” James said quickly, eyes darting toward Violet.

Ashley’s stomach dropped. “Your… friend,” she repeated.

“We’re running late,” James said. “We gotta go. Good seeing you, man.”

As they sat down, Ashley stared at him. “Why did you tell him I was just a friend?” she whispered.

“Because,” he said, flipping open his menu, “I don’t want him knowing I’m dating a big girl.”

She swallowed hard.

The waiter returned a few minutes later. “I’ve got a burger and a salad,” he said. “I’m assuming the salad is for you,” he nodded at Ashley.

“No,” she said quietly. “The burger is mine.”

The waiter blinked. “My apologies.”

“She should be eating the salad,” James muttered as the plates were set down.

Ashley stared at her burger, appetite gone.

“I got you something for your birthday,” she said, trying to salvage the night. She slid an envelope across the table.

He opened it. “Tickets to Hawaii?” he said, eyes lighting up. “For real?”

She smiled. “Yeah. I booked us a getaway. And there’s more.”

She pulled a small bag from her purse. Inside were swim trunks and a folded piece of fabric.

“I got you new trunks,” she said, “and a bathing suit for me. I thought we could wear them at the beach.”

He pulled out the bright two-piece she’d chosen after weeks of hyping herself up in fitting rooms, telling herself she deserved to feel beautiful.

“You’re going to be wearing this?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said, unsure now. “Why? Don’t you like it?”

“I don’t want to be seen with you in a bathing suit,” he said flatly. “Maybe if you weren’t so big, it wouldn’t be such a problem.”

Her eyes stung.

“It’s not about what’s on the outside,” she said softly. “It’s about what’s on the inside. I give you compliments. I make you feel special. I get you thoughtful gifts. Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” he said. “It’s not. I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. It’s over, Ashley. I need to be with someone who isn’t twice my size.”

He stood up, throwing his napkin on the table.

“And you know,” he added, loud enough for the couple at the next table to hear, “maybe if you ate salads instead of burgers, you wouldn’t look like such a joke.”

He walked out, leaving her sitting there with a burger she couldn’t swallow and a trip to Hawaii she no longer wanted to take.

Months later, he’d realize what he’d thrown away.

The “hot” girl he’d upgraded to never told him he looked nice. She never got excited to be seen with him. She didn’t show up to games or bring him coffee or plan surprise trips anywhere. When things were fun, she was there. When they weren’t, she wasn’t.

He started to miss the way Ashley would light up when he walked into a room. The way she’d send him encouraging texts before every game. The way she always thought about him.

On an unremarkable afternoon, in an unremarkable strip mall, he saw her.

“Ashley?” he called.

She turned.

“James,” she said politely. “Wow. It’s been a minute. How have you been?”

“I’ve… been better,” he admitted. “My girlfriend and I just broke up. If I’m being honest, I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I miss the way you made me feel. I was thinking maybe we could—”

“Hey, baby,” another voice said.

A man walked up, holding a small bouquet and a takeout bag.

“Hi,” Ashley said, smiling. “You didn’t have to bring me lunch.”

“It’s an excuse to see you,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I got you a little surprise too.”

He handed her a small box. Inside was a necklace with a simple pendant.

“It’s nothing fancy,” he said. “I just saw it and thought, ‘That would look beautiful on her.’”

James felt something twist in his gut.

“Is she your…” the man asked, turning to James.

“My girlfriend,” Ashley said easily. “Arthur, this is James. He’s just a friend.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Arthur said, shaking James’s hand.

“It’s kind of hot,” Arthur added, looking at Ashley. “Are you sure you want to wear that jacket?”

“You’re right,” she laughed. “I’m roasting.”

He took it from her and folded it over his arm like it was made of silk.

“Wow,” he said, looking at her dress, the same one James had hated. “You look stunning. That color was made for you.”

James swallowed. “You’re not… embarrassed to be with a girl that’s bigger than you?” he blurted.

Arthur stared at him like he’d spoken in another language.

“Are you serious?” Arthur said. “First of all, it’s not about what’s on the outside. It’s about what’s on the inside. And second, there’s more to love.”

He smiled at Ashley, and it was obvious he meant it.

“Nice to meet you… friend,” Arthur said mildly.

They walked away together.

James watched them go, then caught a glimpse of himself in the restaurant window.

For the first time, he didn’t like what he saw.

And in a crowded sports bar back in New York, a man who hadn’t yet lost everything was about to cross a line he could never uncross.

“Hey, I’m gonna head out,” Martin called to his girlfriend, grabbing his jacket.

“Okay,” Kayla said from the couch, lifting her eyes from the laptop where she was finishing a nursing school assignment. “You’ll be back soon?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning down to kiss her quickly. “Promise. Love you.”

“Love you,” she said.

At the bar, his friend shoved a beer in his hand. “Thanks for coming out,” the guy said. “Cheers to that game last night. Let’s get tickets to the next one.”

They clinked glasses, pulled out their phones, checked schedules.

That was when he saw her.

She walked in like she owned the place, dark lipstick and a laugh that turned heads. She sat two stools down from him, ordered a drink, and glanced over.

“Have I seen you here before?” she asked, tilting her head.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Maybe.”

“You look familiar,” she said. “I’m Mallory.”

“I’m Martin,” he replied. “Nice to meet you.”

His friend rolled his eyes. “Take it easy, Casanova,” he said later. “You’ve got a good woman at home.”

“Relax,” Martin said. “We’re just talking.”

Back at home the next day, Kayla wrapped her arms around him in the kitchen. “What’s so funny?” she asked when he chuckled at a text.

“Nothing,” he said, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Hey, I’m going out again tonight, okay?”

“Didn’t you go out last night?” she asked, eyebrows knitting. “You sure you’re not overdoing it?”

“It’ll be quick,” he said. “Trust me, babe.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Be safe.”

At the bar, Mallory was waiting. Wine instead of beer this time. Lower lighting. Sofa in the back.

“Why don’t you put your phone away,” she said, taking it gently from his hand. “Live in the moment. We’re having fun, aren’t we?”

He let her.

Later, they stood in front of her apartment building, the city buzzing around them, steam rising from a nearby subway grate like the whole block was exhaling.

“Thanks for walking me to my door,” she said.

“No problem,” he said. “I had a really good time tonight.”

“So did I,” she said. Then she looked up at him, eyelashes dark against the neon. “Aren’t you going to come inside?”

He thought of Kayla on the couch, waiting for him with a bowl of popcorn and a show queued up on Netflix. He thought of the promises he’d made when they moved in together, broke but hopeful, two kids trying to build something solid in a country that loved breaking things.

He also thought of the thrill of doing something he wasn’t supposed to, the way his heart pounded standing there with someone new.

His hand tightened around his keys.

Every story in that city, in that country, starts in a moment like this—on the edge between right and wrong, between loyalty and ego, between “the person who stayed” and “the person who left.”

Some people turn around.

Some people go inside.

But no one walks away unchanged.