But as the months passed, small cracks began to show. Paul often went to a nearby café to work, and at first Melissa thought nothing of it. But his visits grew longer, stranger.
“Paul, what do you do there for so long?” she had asked one evening.
He smiled gently. “Just clearing my head. The café helps me think.”
Melissa wanted to believe him, but inconsistencies piled up. Muddy boots after a supposed café day. Returning home without his laptop. Brewing coffee the moment he walked in, though he claimed he’d just spent hours surrounded by the smell of it.
Her heart clenched with worry. He was still loving and supportive, yet the secrecy ate at her.
One Saturday morning, unable to stand the doubt any longer, Melissa followed him. She watched as he drove away, expecting him to turn toward the café. Instead, he veered off into the forest.