By Sarah Collins • January 26, 2026 • Share
When Maya’s husband insists on sleeping in the guest room because of her snoring, she thinks nothing of it… until a late-night message shatters everything. What she discovers isn’t an affair, but something even more devastating. A story of betrayal, illusion, and the quiet power of choosing yourself.
For most of our marriage, Jason and I shared a bed like any other couple. I used to fall asleep listening to the sound of him typing late into the night, or the soft rustle of pages when he read. Some mornings we’d wake up tangled, sleepy and warm, and he’d say something stupid. “You drooled on me again,” and I’d laugh and shove him. That was us. Not perfect, but present. Real. Together.
So when he brought up the idea of sleeping in separate rooms, I honestly thought he was kidding.
“Maya, I love you,” he said one night, toothbrush in hand. “But, babe, I’ve been waking up exhausted. Your snoring is on another level lately.”
“You’ve literally made bear jokes about this for years, Jason,” I laughed, still rinsing my face. “Now it’s suddenly a dealbreaker?”
“I just need uninterrupted sleep,” he said, all gentle tones and casual shoulders. “Just for a bit. To reset. Work is really taking it out of me, you know.”
I was still towel-drying my hair when I saw the small bag on the bed. That caught me off guard. For someone just ‘resetting,’ he sure packed like he was staying awhile. But then, my husband did have a lot of steps going into his night routine. He had his rituals, eyedrops, nighttime meds, and that awful-smelling spray for his leg cramps.
That night, he moved into the guest room. No argument. No real conversation. Just… done.
At first, I was more embarrassed than hurt. I downloaded sleep apps. Ordered herbal teas with names like Dream Whisper and Silent Moon, all of them promising a silent and restful sleep. I wore those painful nasal strips that left red marks on my face. I even sat upright, surrounded by pillows like some Victorian ghost bride, willing myself not to snore.
Jason stayed in the guest room anyway.
“Don’t take it personally, Maya,” he said one morning over coffee and bagels. “I’m just finally getting solid sleep.”
But it wasn’t just about sleep. Not anymore. He brought his phone charger and laptop in with him every night. He started locking the door to the guest room and said that it was in case I sleepwalked.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, Maya… but I’d rather be safe in here than out there when you’re sleepwalking.”
What the hell? I’ve never sleepwalked a day in my life.
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