I stared at my phone screen, waiting for Ryan's call as evening light filtered through our apartment curtains. After a year of marriage, I had grown accustomed to his frequent business trips, but that didn't make the loneliness any easier.

When the video call connected, Ryan's face appeared, the hotel room dimly lit behind him.


"Hey, babe," he said, voice slightly hoarse. "Sorry for calling late. Meetings ran longer than expected."

I smiled. "It's okay. How was your day?"

"Exhausting. These clients are demanding, but the deal is almost closed." He loosened his tie, revealing his collar.


That's when I noticed it—a small, reddish-purple mark on the side of his neck, partially hidden by his collar. My heart skipped a beat.

"What's that on your neck?" I asked, trying to sound casual.


Ryan's hand flew to his neck, his eyes momentarily widening before he composed himself. "This? Just a mosquito bite. The hotel room had a few of them last night."

"It looks... different," I persisted, a knot forming in my stomach.

"It's nothing," he said dismissively. "Oh, I think someone's at the door. Must be room service. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? Love you."

Before I could respond, the screen went black. I sat motionless, staring at my reflection in the darkened phone. A mosquito bite. That's what he'd said. But the nagging doubt refused to leave my mind.

---

The next afternoon, I sat at a corner table in Starlight Café, fidgeting with my wedding ring as I waited for my best friend, Sophie. The café buzzed with the afternoon crowd, coffee aroma filling the air.

"Sorry I'm late," Sophie said, sliding into the seat across from me. "Traffic was horrible. What's so urgent?"

I leaned forward. "I think Ryan might be cheating on me."

Sophie's eyes widened. "What? That's serious. Why do you think that?"

I recounted the video call, describing the mark on his neck and his hasty exit.

"He said it was a mosquito bite, but it looked... different. Like a..." I couldn't say it.

"Like a hickey?" Sophie finished gently.

I nodded, tears threatening. "Am I being paranoid? We've only been married a year."

Sophie squeezed my hand. "Maybe it really was a mosquito bite? He's always been devoted to you. Remember how he proposed after just two months?"

"That's what I keep telling myself," I sighed. "But lately, he's been distant. More business trips, late-night calls he takes in another room. I don't know what to think anymore."

"Have you tried talking to him about it?"

"Every time I bring up anything serious, he changes the subject or says he's too tired." I stirred my untouched latte. "Maybe I'm overthinking this."

"Maybe," Sophie agreed, though her eyes betrayed doubt.

Neither of us noticed the man at the next table, who had been listening while pretending to read a book. As he stood to leave, he stopped at our table, his tall figure casting a shadow.

"Excuse me," he said, voice cool and precise. "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation."

I looked up, startled. The stranger before me was strikingly handsome in a severe way—sharp cheekbones, penetrating eyes, and an expression that suggested he rarely smiled.

"Are you genuinely naive or just pretending to be?" he asked, tone cutting.

"I beg your pardon?" I replied, taken aback.

"That mark you described—it's clearly a hickey. Any idiot could tell you that mosquito bites don't look like that. Unless, of course, you're suggesting your husband was bitten by a two-meter-long mosquito wearing lipstick."

My face flushed with anger and embarrassment. "This is a private conversation. Who do you think you are?"

"Someone with functioning eyes and a brain, apparently," he replied dryly. "Look, I don't know you or your husband, but I know when someone's being lied to. A man who truly loves you wouldn't make you question your own judgment."

"You have no right—" I began, voice rising.

"You're right, I don't," he interrupted. "But sometimes an outsider's perspective is exactly what's needed. Good luck with your mosquito-bite theory."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me speechless.

"What an absolute jerk!" Sophie exclaimed. "Who does he think he is?"

"I don't know and I don't care," I replied, though my eyes followed his retreating figure. Despite his rudeness, his words had struck a chord. What if he was right?

"Don't let some random stranger get to you," Sophie said, noticing my expression. "He doesn't know anything about your relationship."

I nodded absently, but the stranger's words had planted a seed of doubt I couldn't ignore. As I sipped my now-cold coffee, I wondered if I had been willfully blind to the signs all along.

That night, alone in our apartment, I scrolled through recent photos of Ryan and me. We looked happy, smiling with our arms around each other. But appearances could be deceiving—I knew that better than most. Before meeting Ryan, I had carefully constructed a new identity, leaving behind my privileged past to prove I could make it on my own.

Now, staring at my husband's smiling face on the screen, I wondered if he too was hiding something behind his perfect façade. And if he was, how much more heartbreak awaited me down this road of discovery?