I wasn’t snooping, I swear. That detail matters to me, even now, because intent changes how a memory feels when you replay it later. That morning was ordinary in every possible way. Sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. I had a cup of coffee growing cold beside me, and my only goal was to check a shipping confirmation for a set of documents Thomas had ordered for one of his “projects.” His laptop was already open on the table, exactly where he’d left it the night before.

I sat down, moved the mouse, and before I typed a single letter, the browser refreshed. An email thread filled the screen. The subject line stopped my breath in a way I still can’t fully describe: “Divorce Strategy.” For a split second, my mind tried to save me. Maybe it’s spam. Maybe it’s for someone else. Maybe I’m misreading it. Then I saw my name. Not once. Not twice. Over and over. And beneath it, a sentence that burned itself into my memory like a brand: He’ll never see this coming. My body reacted before my thoughts could catch up. My hands went cold.