The photo was taken in bed.

The lighting was dim, the man's face hidden in shadow.

But the hand caressing the woman's lips wore a wedding band identical to the one I'd given Alex.

The woman was smiling, a cascade of jewels sparkling on her chest.

And the arm draped over her waist had a butterfly tattoo, a mirror image of the one on Alex's arm.

Then I saw it—the woman had a matching butterfly tattooed on her delicate hand.

In that instant, all my anxieties solidified into concrete, undeniable pain.

I once asked Alex why he got a butterfly tattoo.

He just shrugged and said, "No reason, I just liked it."

Now I finally understood.

The butterfly was the brand of their secret affair.

My hand trembled as I kept scrolling.

[He took me to a private, high-end winery today. We sipped rare vintages to the sound of classical music, and afterwards, we went back to the apartment he rents for me.

He's an amazing chef, and he made me his special dessert, the "Butterfly Kiss."

He told me I was like a butterfly breaking free from its cocoon, fluttering into his heart. Our love, he said, was a dance, and the butterfly was our totem, our secret language. He said he loved me more than life itself.]

[My world has fallen apart.

He's breaking up with me to go back to his family because his wife suddenly got very sick.

He says he has to be there for her, to be a responsible husband.

So what was I? Just a toy for a cheap thrill? A placeholder to fill his empty hours?

I've decided to let him go. I'm leaving this city, going somewhere new where I can forget everything about him.]

My fingers went numb as I continued to scroll down.

Her account went silent for two years after that post.

That was right around the time I was in the hospital with severe pneumonia, with Alex by my side taking care of me.

Alex and I had met on a blind date.

It was an instant connection, and we were engaged in no time.

After we got married, he was the perfect husband.

I'd wake up every morning to his gentle good-morning kiss, a gourmet breakfast already on the table.

He remembered every anniversary, every birthday, showering me with thoughtful gifts and sweet nothings.

When I was in the hospital, he stayed up all night with me, feeding me, giving me my meds, telling stupid jokes just to see me smile.

He played the part of the devoted husband so perfectly.

I never once thought that love could be a lie.

My heart clenched.

A new post had gone up five days ago.

Just a few words: [We saw each other again.]

My blood ran cold.

I stared at the screen, the words blurring through my tears.

[I was transferred back here for work. I ran into him at a dinner with some colleagues, and all those old feelings came rushing back.

After dinner, he found me and pulled me into a private lounge.

He told me he hadn't stopped thinking about me for a single day in the two years we were apart. The tears I'd been holding back finally broke free.

In that dark room, he pulled me against him, crushing me in his arms.

His lips came down on mine, hungry and desperate, a kiss filled with all the longing and desire he'd kept bottled up. I was breathless.

That night, we spent an unforgettable, passionate night together at a hotel.]

I read every last word of their "love story," a wave of nausea and a bone-deep chill washing over me.

After screenshotting everything, I video-called Alex.

The moment he answered, I could see the panic flash in his eyes.

He quickly angled the camera away, but not before I caught a glimpse of crumpled clothes and what looked like sex toys in the background.

"Hey, honey. Miss me?" he asked, forcing a calm he didn't feel.

I tried to keep my own voice steady.

"You seem a little flustered, Alex. You don't have company, do you?"

He laughed it off. "Of course not, babe. You're so funny. See? No one here," he said, slowly panning the phone around.

Just then, I heard a soft, muffled groan.

The video feed showed nothing, but I could picture it perfectly: that woman, doing exactly what she'd bragged about in her post.

[Every time his wife calls, he makes me go down on him. He loves the thrill of it.]

A second later, Alex's face flushed red.

"I've gotta be up early for a training seminar tomorrow, so I should go," he said, trying to sound casual.

Before I could even reply, he hung up.

As the screen went dark, my heart went dark with it.

From the bassinet beside me, our son started to cry, unleashing all the grief and helplessness I felt inside.

I scooped him up, holding him tight as my tears mixed with his.

Three days ago, Alex had told me his work was sending him to a special training seminar in Chicago for a few days.

I was a little annoyed at the time, but I tried to be supportive of his career.

But the truth was he'd abandoned me and our newborn to take his mistress to Vegas for a weekend of indulgence.

The whole thing was a sick, pathetic joke.