"...I still feel the hesitation in your fingertips against my palm, hear your breathing shift when I whispered your name — Elise, a quiet promise no one else would hear. You left the balcony doors open, curtains blowing softly into the room where your husband waited.

You chose risk, briefly chose me.You said this couldn’t follow you home, but here you are, still reading.

Tell me again: who's the liar now?..."

"From the first time you laughed across our dinner table, I knew I was in trouble. Every innocent glance, every hesitant smile, every carefully placed silence, each one has haunted me since you left.

I’ve built a lifetime on self-control and boundaries, and yet you managed to unravel both without even touching me. Today my daughter casually mentioned you're coming back with her next month, as if it's the simplest thing in the world, and now I lie awake wondering how I’ll keep pretending.

I shouldn’t be writing this letter, but tell me, how else do I survive wanting what I can never have? ..."