We'd been together 18 months. Long enough that the "what if we moved in together" conversations had started to feel real. We'd daydream about suburbs, laugh about who'd hog the doona, debate over couches .

I thought I'd finally found my person .

Which is why, at a Sunday barbecue with friends, it didn't feel like a big deal when I picked up his phone to change the music.

I'd never touched it before. Not once. Dan* wasn't secretive, but he'd never offered it up either. Still, the playlist was dire, the phone was right there, and I figured, what's the harm?

The screen lit up in my hand. I should have just gone to Spotify, found a playlist, pressed play. But I'm nosy. Always have been. So I poked around.

The air smelled of sausages and sunscreen. Someone's kid was squealing in the

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