I was worried. For days, my boyfriend Jace had barely texted back, and when he did, his voice over the phone was weak, raspy, and full of coughs.
“I might have a fever,” he had said, barely coherent. “I’ll text later.”
That wasn’t like him — and if he was truly sick, I had to be there. After all, isn’t that what you do when someone you love is unwell?
I grabbed fresh fruit, tea, and throat lozenges, picturing him curled up under blankets, grateful for my visit. As soon as I stepped into his building, an unexpected sight froze me in my tracks:
There he was, in the hall — arms wrapped tightly around another woman I didn’t know. A stranger. His body language was familiar, but not comforting.
“Feeling better?” I asked, more sharply than I meant.
He didn’t swoop in with excuses or affection. Instead, he stepped toward me, hands raised as if he could fix everything. But I didn’t want that anymore. I threw the bag at him and walked away. That was the end of him — or so I thought.
Days passed with no apology, no call, not even a follow‑up text. I reached out, asking to meet at our usual café. We agreed on 6 p.m., but Jace never showed up. Hours later, his reply came — an excuse and a claim that he couldn’t stand seeing me upset.
Still simmering, I headed home — and froze again:
Standing at my door was the woman from the elevator. She looked nervous, unsure, like she had something to say.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Ashley,” she replied, voice trembling. “I feel like I owe you a conversation.”
Ashley explained that Jace had told her I was rude, uncaring, and unfaithful — stories meant to manipulate both of us. She wasn’t just someone he hung out with. She was someone he’d been seeing, quietly and carefully hidden from me.
That realization hit me hard — but instead of feeling defeated, an idea sparked: revenge. Ashley and I teamed up. Together, we created multiple fake dating profiles for Jace, using his photos and fake interests, and posted them on dating apps everywhere.
Almost instantly, his phone buzzed nonstop with messages and calls from people responding to the fake accounts. At first Jace was bewildered — then frantic:
“Who are these people?!”
“Why won’t my phone stop ringing?!”
“Please, I’m begging you!”
His desperation grew until at last, he texted one final plea: “I’ll do anything. Just stop.”
So we did — but only after one condition, and one final act — he had to send money… enough to pay for a two‑week holiday in Spain. Then we blocked his number forever.
That night, as silence returned to my world, the chapter closed — not with sadness, but with a strange sense of relief. Sometimes, letting go doesn’t hurt — it liberates. And I realized I deserved honesty, not excuses.
