I came home from a long business trip — the kind that leaves you aching for your own bed, your own space, your own peace. All I wanted was to kick off my heels, slide under the covers, and fall asleep on my favorite pillow.
Instead, I found lace.
Not mine.
A delicate, unfamiliar pair of panties, smugly perched on my side of the bed.
I didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t storm out into the night.
I stood there, staring, like the breath had been quietly knocked from my chest.
The night everything began unraveling did not feel dramatic in the moment. It was quiet in the way exhaustion often is, the kind that settles into your…
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