My husband is everything I thought I wanted—steady, kind, and devoted. We’ve built a life together that many would envy: a comfortable home, shared goals, and the kind of quiet stability that offers security. I’ve always believed that this is what love should feel like. Yet, lately, I’ve felt a restlessness I can’t quite define, a subtle longing for something I don’t even know how to name.

And then there’s my boss. It’s not just his charm or the easy confidence he carries into every room. It’s the way he looks at me—like he truly sees me. It’s a look that doesn’t just pass over the surface; it lingers, searching, acknowledging something deeper. In those moments, I feel visible, like the parts of me that have been dulled by routine and responsibility suddenly come alive.

I didn’t expect this, and I certainly didn’t ask for it. But there’s a magnetic pull in those glances, in the conversations that seem to hold more meaning than they should. He stirs something inside me—emotions I can’t ignore and don’t fully understand. It’s not just attraction; it’s the sense that he sees a version of me that I’ve forgotten, or maybe never even knew existed.

I feel conflicted, guilty even, for letting this affect me. My husband is a good man, and I love him. But now I’m questioning if love is enough when a single look from someone else can shake me to my core. What does that say about me—and about the life I thought I wanted?