They’d been together since high school, that rare kind of couple who grew up without growing apart. Connor was steady, dependable, always knowing when to speak and when to simply be present. Their love wasn’t dramatic or volatile. It was consistent, quietly intense—a shared rhythm that had lasted over a decade.
Eight years into marriage, they still held hands while watching TV, still kissed before leaving for work. Their photos lined the hallway—ski trips, birthdays, lazy Sunday mornings with coffee. To most people, they were living the dream life. The couple that made it. And for a long time, Julia believed that too.