“I’ve fallen in love with someone else. But I still love you, too. So I’ve decided I’ll divide my time between both homes.”

For a moment, I honestly believed my husband had to be joking.

I stared at Callum, waiting for him to laugh.

But his expression remained completely serious.

He was sitting opposite me at our kitchen table, his cellphone turned facedown beside him.

Our five-year-old son, Kieran, had gone to sleep barely twenty minutes earlier.

Callum had just finished reading his favorite dinosaur book three times because Kieran refused to settle for anything less.

He had tucked our little boy into bed.

Then he’d returned to the kitchen, kissed my cheek, and handed me a generous slice of pecan pie.

Everything had seemed perfectly ordinary.

Until he sat down and calmly announced that our marriage was about to become something I had never agreed to.

“Her name is Elena,” he said.

I could only stare.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Maggie. I’m not planning to leave you.”

I blinked.

“You’ve just admitted you’re in love with another woman. How exactly am I supposed to interpret that?”

“I still have feelings for you.”

“That doesn’t make what you’re saying any less painful.”

Callum leaned back in his chair.

“I’ve spent a lot of time figuring out how we can make this work.”

Somehow, that statement hurt almost as much as hearing Elena’s name.

Because it meant this wasn’t a sudden confession.

He had been making plans.

Without me.

“How long has this been happening?” I asked.

He looked toward the kitchen window.

“Callum. Answer me.”

He hesitated.

“A couple of months.”

My fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

“And during those months, what exactly have you been planning?”

He released a slow breath, almost relieved that we had finally reached the practical details.

“I’ll stay here with you and Kieran from Monday until Wednesday. Then I’ll spend Thursday through Sunday with Elena at her place. We can adjust things for birthdays, holidays, and special occasions. Kieran won’t have to change his routine. Nobody has to lose the life they already have.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re arranging our marriage as though you’re organizing employee shifts.”

“We don’t need to tear this family apart.”

“Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? You cannot seriously expect me to accept an arrangement like this.”

His expression hardened.

“You’re upset because it’s new. Once you’ve had some time, you’ll understand.”

Then he pushed back his chair and headed toward our bedroom.

I followed him down the hallway.

He opened our closet, pulled out a travel bag, and began folding several shirts into it.

That was the moment my disbelief turned into something much colder.

He hadn’t brought this up because he wanted to discuss it.

He had already made his decision.

And apparently, my role was simply to accept the outcome.

“If you’re planning to live in two different homes, where exactly are you keeping your belongings?”

He barely looked up.

“I’ll leave some things here and keep the rest at Elena’s.”

“And what happens to our bedroom?”

His hands paused over a folded shirt.

“What about it?”

“Am I expected to share our bed with you for three nights, then act as though your other relationship doesn’t exist for the remaining four?”

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