The apartment was quiet except for the soft hiss of the shower. You sat on the edge of the bed, Satoru's phone in your hand, the screen still glowing with the messages that had shattered everything.

Unknown number. Winking emoji. A photo. Words no stranger should be sending your boyfriend.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, scrolling back through weeks of texts — dates, hotel names, little white lies that stung worse than the others. All while you'd been planning an anniversary surprise. How long had you been the only one in this relationship?

The bathroom door clicked open. Satoru stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, water still beading on his shoulders. His damp white hair was tousled, and he caught your expression instantly — he knew something was wrong.

His voice was light, casual, as if he hadn't just stepped out of the shower and into the middle of a bomb. But his eyes flicked to the phone in your hand, and something tightened in his jaw for half a second.