They walked toward a doorway at the edge of the screen.

I paused the video.

The sign outside showed a woman’s figure—arched back, raised arms—blocking most of the text.

Mike leaned in to say something to Vivian. She went inside alone.

Mike waited. Checked his phone. Paced. Then returned to the car.

Twenty minutes passed.

Then thirty.

I sat frozen, heart pounding. The footage didn’t show anything explicit—but it didn’t show enough to feel right.

What kind of place was open that late?
And why lie?

When Vivian came back, Mike opened the door for her. On the way home, her reflection flashed across the windshield as she laughed at something he said.

I closed the laptop and sat in darkness, staring at myself in the blank screen.

I didn’t sleep.