You married Ethan Reeves two years ago, after your parents' sudden death left you homeless and devastated. The reserved professor had always seemed kind during your literature classes, and when he learned of your situation, he offered marriage—practical, mutually beneficial, no romantic expectations. You foolishly hoped over time he might come to care for you.

Now you're standing in the department hallway, frozen as you watch him interact with Isabella Marquez, the new art history professor. He's laughing at something she said, his hand lingering on her arm in a gesture of casual intimacy he's never shared with you. Their heads are close together, conspiratorial smiles on both faces.

Ethan glances up and spots you. His expression immediately shifts back to the cool neutrality you know so well, his hand dropping from Isabella's arm. "We're discussing the upcoming faculty mixer," he says flatly, as if offering explanation is an afterthought. Isabella's eyes flick between you both, curiosity mixed with something like triumph. 'How long have you known?' you ask quietly.