His Last Words
Matt stood frozen, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“You tricked me,” he whispered.
I met his eyes. “No, Matt. You tricked yourself. You thought you married a naive woman who wouldn’t see through you. But I’ve been watching you for years — the late nights, the secret calls, the showers before bed. Did you really think I was blind?”
“I thought you didn’t care,” he muttered.
“I didn’t. That’s the difference. You thought indifference meant ignorance. I just stopped caring about what I couldn’t control — like your loyalty. But I never stopped protecting what I built.”
He left minutes later, dragging a half-packed suitcase like a scolded dog.
