The reflection in the TV screen showed a woman tying her shoes at the foot of his bed.

I surfaced from sleep to a rhythm I didn't recognize in my own bedroom. When I opened my eyes, the woman I loved was already mid-betrayal.

My husband started wearing a plain silver band he swore was just a five-dollar impulse buy. I only picked it up to wipe off the soap scum.

He deleted the app, cleared his history, covered every track he could think of. He just forgot the one inbox we had always shared.

I opened our shared grocery app to order milk before the school run. What was already sitting in the cart stopped me cold in the kitchen.

Grading essays all day taught her to spot a machine pretending to be a person. She never expected to find that same fingerprint on a love letter meant for her husband.