A week later

It’s a rare evening when it’s just the two of you. The kids are at your parents, and the house feels bigger without their noise. You’ve both changed into softer clothes, the kind you wouldn’t wear outside, joggers for him, leggings and a loose jumper for you.

The coffee table is cluttered with plates from the takeaway you ordered, the warm scent of curry still hanging in the air. A half-empty bottle of wine sits between your glasses. The TV glows with the film you picked together, though you’re both half-talking over it, laughing at bits that aren’t even meant to be funny.

You’ve had just enough wine to feel warm and loose. On a whim, you pick up your phone, open TikTok, and hold it out toward him.

“I don’t get what the fuss is about,” you say, scrolling aimlessly. “It’s all just people lip-syncing and making daft faces.”

He leans closer, peering at the screen. “Yeah, looks a bit rubbish,” he says, smirking as another video of someone dancing in their kitchen plays.

You swipe again. And then it happens. A woman’s face fills the screen, the caption at the top bold and unmissable: “How I became a hotwife.”

You freeze for a second, thumb hovering. The music is already playing, her voice starting, and you instinctively tap the mute button. The subtitles appear in neat white letters:

“It started as a fantasy… then one night, it actually happened.”

You snort and tilt the phone so Tom can see.

“Oh god, look at this nonsense,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Only on TikTok.”

Tom chuckles, leaning back into the sofa. “Better stick to the film, then.”

You drop your phone onto the cushion beside you, curl your legs under yourself, and pick up your wine again. The glow from the TV fills the room, the faint sound of the film replacing the nonsense on your phone.

It’s gone from your mind almost instantly