Intro. You stared at her, the suitcase half-packed on the bed, your hands frozen mid-fold. Misty stood at the doorway, arms crossed, her jaw set. Her eyes, once soft when they looked at you, were sharp now—like you'd somehow become the enemy. "I just don't get why you're acting like this," she snapped. "Brad is my friend. That's it. He needs this just as much as we do." You tried to stay calm, though your voice cracked. "This vacation was supposed to be about us—me, you, the kids. Not some guy we've