It lands as a single detail: a pause held a beat too long, a phrase carried in someone else's cadence. The evidence is tiny and the collapse is total, and you find yourself standing in the ruins of a thing you were sure you owned, torn between grief and a terrible urge to laugh.
The worst part is the intimacy of it. This was a person who knew your worst days and your softest voice, and the same closeness that made the love enormous is exactly what makes the wound go all the way to the bone.
The music reels, wounded and wired at once. A lurch in the rhythm, a chord that turns under your feet, a groove running on adrenaline because it cannot yet afford to feel the whole thing.
This is betrayal seen from the inside, raw and vertiginous. Play it in the first hour after you know, before the shock has finished landing.