In the middle of dinner, my husband laughed and told our friends that no one else wanted me, so he married me out of pity.

Exactly seven minutes later, Brandon’s phone buzzed on the white tablecloth.

He glanced at the screen.

And all the color drained from his face.

Seven minutes isn’t long—until you’re watching someone realize the reality they built is collapsing in real time.

Brandon picked up his phone, frowned at the screen, and straightened in his chair so abruptly his bourbon glass tipped over. A few drops splashed across the table. He didn’t notice. His expression shifted in stages—annoyance first, then confusion, then something far more raw. Panic.