The envelope was waiting on my pillow, sealed in red wax—the same shade as the lipstick he kissed me with last night. Inside, photos. Me, asleep. Him, awake. Her, naked on our sheets. Our anniversary.\n\nI didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I stood there, clutching the proof like it was a prophecy. Then I saw the note: She knows everything. But does she?\n\nMy phone buzzed. Unknown number. One message: Ask him about Oslo.\n\nI stared at the bedroom door. He was downstairs, pouring wine, humming that song—the one he said reminded him of saving me. The fire. The smoke. The lie.\n\nI had two choices: walk down and confront him, or vanish before he realized I knew.