“I’ve told you a hundred times not to do that!” exclaimed my husband by accident to my friend—someone I assumed he had never come across before

When my best friend met my husband for the first time, they shared a strange, tense glance—but I brushed it off as nothing. Hours later, Ethan exploded at her over a simple bag of chips: “I’ve told you a hundred times not to do that.” My heart dropped. That wasn’t something you say to someone you just met.

It was the first warm spring day—the kind that fills your house with fresh air and the scent of lilacs and damp earth. Around noon, Laura’s little red car rolled into our dusty driveway. I greeted her on the porch, apron still on, as she stepped out with oversized sunglasses and her familiar sunflower tote.

We hugged like old times, brushing past the years and missed calls. Inside, the house smelled like cinnamon and polish. I introduced her to Ethan, who stood and reached out a hand. When their eyes met, something shifted. His smile grew stiff. Hers faded. Just for a moment, something unspoken passed between them—surprise, discomfort… maybe even recognition. But then it vanished, and they played the part of polite strangers.