The notification lit up my phone at 2:47 AM, and with it, my entire marriage shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces. I should have been asleep. Should have been curled against my husband's warm body, dreaming of nothing more complicated than tomorrow's research presentation. Instead, Marcus's side of the bed was cold, empty for the third night this week. "Late briefing," he'd texted hours ago. "Don't wait up." I hadn't planned to scroll through Instagram. But insomnia has a way of making you do stupid things, and apparently the universe decided I needed to know the truth right then, at nearly three in the morning, alone in our base housing bedroom. The post was from @NavyWivesNetwork, a account I followed casually. Someone had submitted an anonymous photo to their stories—blurry, taken from across a dimly lit restaurant, but clear enough. Crystal clear. My husband. My Marcus. His hand covering someone else's across a candlelit table, his smile the intimate one I thought belonged only to me. The woman's face was partially obscured, but I could see her naval uniform, the lieutenant bars on her collar. My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. I screenshotted it before the story could disappear. Evidence. Though evidence of what, exactly? My husband was allowed to have dinner with colleagues. Allowed to be friendly with other officers. Except I knew that smile. Knew the way his thumb would be tracing circles on her palm. Knew exactly what that particular tilt of his head meant. Seven years of marriage teaches you things you wish you could unlearn. I wanted to scream. Wanted to throw something, confront him, demand answers. My finger hovered over his contact, ready to call and destroy whatever lie he was currently living. Then I remembered. Danny. My little brother, twenty-four years old and living his dream as a marine engineer on the USS Sentinel—the deep-sea research vessel currently on a six-month deployment. The same vessel where Marcus served as Executive Officer. Where Marcus held my brother's career, his safety, his entire future in his decorated hands. The Navy was a small world. Smaller still when you factored in the specialized deep-sea research division. One scandal, one messy divorce, one accusation of infidelity against a respected XO, and the fallout would bury everyone nearby. Including Danny. I set the phone down carefully, as if it might explode. The front door opened downstairs. Marcus, finally home from his "briefing." I heard him move through the house with familiar sounds—keys in the bowl, shoes by the door, the refrigerator opening and closing. Normal. Everything perfectly normal. I deleted the screenshot from my recently deleted folder, clearing it permanently. Then I opened my book on coral reef regeneration, clicked on my reading lamp, and arranged myself casually against the pillows. When Marcus appeared in the doorway, I smiled. "Hey," I said, keeping my voice soft, sleepy. "How was the briefing?" He looked tired, guilty in a way he probably thought I couldn't see. "Long. Tedious. You know how it is." I did. I knew exactly how it was. "Come to bed," I told him, and when he slid under the covers beside me, I let him kiss my forehead. Let him pull me close. Let him fall asleep while I stared at the ceiling, counting the ways my life had just imploded. Four months until Danny's deployment ended. I could survive anything for four months. I had to. ---