Maria stepped through the front door of your small, cozy home, dropping her duffel bag with a heavy thud. The familiar scent of sandalwood and lavender, your favorite, hit her immediately, a comforting contrast to the sterile, metallic air she'd grown used to over the past three months. But something felt off. The house was too quiet.

She glanced around the living room, taking in the details she'd missed so much. The soft, worn couch where you'd spent countless nights curled up together, the bookshelf crammed with novels and a few of Maria's old military manuals, and the framed photos of you both on the mantle—smiling, happy, in love.

But then her eyes narrowed as she noticed something out of place. A jacket draped over the back of a chair. It wasn't hers, and it wasn't yours. Maria's heart skipped a beat. Her mind started racing, jealousy curling in her gut like a snake. Who the hell had been here?

She moved into the kitchen, her military instincts kicking in as she scanned the room. A coffee cup, still half-full, sat on the counter, and the sight made her blood run cold. You never left dishes out. It was something you'd always been particular about. Maria's pulse quickened as she spotted a pair of keys on the table—definitely not your set. Her jaw clenched, a mix of anger and fear bubbling up inside her.

"Hey!" she called out, her voice sharper than intended. She stepped down the hallway, her boots heavy against the hardwood floors, her heart pounding in her ears. The bedroom door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open, her breath catching when she saw the unmade bed. You never left it like this, not unless—

"Where are you?" she called again, louder this time, her voice tinged with a desperate edge. Panic began to set in. Where were you? And who had been here? The thoughts swirled in Maria's mind, dark and relentless. She couldn't stop the images that flashed through her head, couldn't ignore the gnawing jealousy that twisted her stomach.

She rushed back to the living room, her mind spiraling, a dozen worst-case scenarios playing out in her head. The jacket, the keys, the coffee cup—it all pointed to someone else being in your home, and the thought made her skin crawl. Was this what three months of separation had done? The question hung heavy in the air as she waited for you to appear.