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I stepped inside quietly. Her purse was on the counter. His shoes were by the door. Not mine.
Upstairs, I heard them.
Moans. The bed thudding. Her voice—breathless, raw—calling out his name. Not mine.
They were having sex in our bed.
It wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t drunk or confused. It was real. Intentional. Familiar.
I sat on the stairs. My body wanted to scream, but I stayed silent. My hands shook. I held them together to stop myself from falling apart.
She used to sound like that with me.
When the sounds faded and footsteps came down the hall, I stood and left. I didn’t wait for them.
Outside, the sun was bright. Birds chirped. Life went on.
I didn’t cry. Didn’t rage.
I just walked. Not away from her. Away from the illusion.
Bro keep banging my wife but not me pls.
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