No

You were mid-knock when you heard the soft jingle of a dog collar.

A neighbour you only half-recognised was walking past, leash in hand, a small terrier trotting ahead. Their eyes flicked up to the you, took in the locked door, your raised fist, the phone still in your other hand. The look lasted only a second, but it was enough—curiosity, mild surprise, the quiet judgement of someone seeing a man locked out of a house that wasn’t his, knocking like he didn’t belong.

Heat crawled up the back of your neck.

You lowered your hand, forced a tight nod in their direction, and stepped back from the door. The music and cheering still spilled out into the night, but the embarrassment of being watched cut through everything else. You turned and walked away, phone still unanswered in your grip, and headed back toward your own house a few doors away.

The neighbour continued on without comment. You didn’t look back.

Your front door closed behind you with a dull click. The poker table still sat in the middle of the living room, cards and empty cans scattered across it. The house felt larger and quieter than it had all night. You dropped onto the couch, phone resting on your knee, the silence pressing in.

It buzzed.

A single message from a number you didn’t have saved—though you knew exactly who it belonged to.

Brian.

No text. Just a video.

You stared at the thumbnail for a long second before your thumb pressed play.

The camera was shaky, handheld, the living room of Brian’s house packed with the same faces that had left your poker game earlier. The Stripper was playing, but the energy was the same. In the centre of the room Katie stood on the low coffee table.

She was the one stripping.

Her top was already gone. She swayed to the beat, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, as she reached back and unhooked her bra. The room cheered when it came off. Brian’s voice was close to the camera, low and amused.

“Told you she’d put on a proper show once we got rid of the husband.”

Katie’s hands moved to the button of her jeans. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before pushing them down over her hips, the same hips that had been in Brian’s lap hours earlier. The cheer that went up was louder this time. Someone wolf-whistled. Katie stepped out of the jeans, now only in her panties, still moving to the music while the entire party watched.

The video ended on a freeze-frame of her reaching for the waistband of those last remaining clothes, Brian’s hand visible at the edge of the frame, steadying the camera.

You sat in the quiet of your own living room, the poker table still set for a game that had never included your wife, staring at the dark screen of your phone while the party continued a few doors down without you.