When Kurt and I traveled across the country to visit my sister Sasha, she welcomed us with open arms. Her small apartment quickly became our cozy retreat—filled with laughter, late-night talks, and the comfort of being together again. For the first day, everything felt perfect.
But something shifted.
Sasha’s warmth began to fade. She grew tense whenever Kurt entered the room, quietly excusing herself or avoiding eye contact. I tried to brush it off—maybe she was tired, maybe it was just the stress of hosting. But by the second day, her discomfort was impossible to ignore.
That night, she pulled me aside, eyes brimming with tears.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she said softly. “He’s been locking himself in my only bathroom for hours. I haven’t been able to use my own space.”
I defended him at first—travel nerves, maybe an upset stomach. But something didn’t sit right.
The truth surfaced when I found Kurt’s phone left unattended. No games, no distractions—just messages on a dating app. Promises to meet someone. Plans made while staying under Sasha’s roof.
