MY FINGERS CLOSED AROUND SOMETHING HARD BURIED DEEP INSIDE THE TORN SEAM OF THE OLD SOFA
My fingers closed around something hard buried deep inside the torn seam of the old sofa while searching for a dropped earring I’d lost hours ago. It felt cold and slick, completely foreign against the rough cotton stuffing I expected to find hidden inside.
I pulled it out, wiping away the dust, and my stomach dropped; it was a cheap flip phone, one I’d never seen before. I fumbled with the worn plastic shell, feeling the sticky residue on the buttons, wondering why he would hide a phone in the couch.
He walked in just then, eyes wide, spotting it in my hand. “What is that?” he snapped, his voice tight and sharp, nothing like his usual tone. The cheap screen flickered to life, displaying a lock screen photo I didn’t recognize – a street corner, blurry, unsettling.
Then a new message popped up and it was from my mother’s number.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*MY FINGERS CLOSED AROUND SOMETHING HARD BURIED DEEP INSIDE THE TORN SEAM OF THE OLD SOFA
My fingers closed around something hard buried deep inside the torn seam of the old sofa while searching for a dropped earring I’d lost hours ago. It felt cold and slick, completely foreign against the rough cotton stuffing I expected to find hidden inside.
I pulled it out, wiping away the dust, and my stomach dropped; it was a cheap flip phone, one I’d never seen before. I fumbled with the worn plastic shell, feeling the sticky residue on the buttons, wondering why he would hide a phone in the couch.
He walked in just then, eyes wide, spotting it in my hand. “What is that?” he snapped, his voice tight and sharp, nothing like his usual tone. The cheap screen flickered to life, displaying a lock screen photo I didn’t recognize – a street corner, blurry, unsettling.
Then a new message popped up and it was from my mother’s number.
👇 *Full story continued…*
My heart hammered against my ribs as I read the message. It wasn’t a casual text. It said, “Everything is in place. She doesn’t suspect a thing. Will confirm time for transfer tonight.”
“Give me that!” he roared, lunging towards me. I instinctively flinched back, clutching the phone tighter. His face was a mask of panic and rage, his eyes no longer wide with surprise but narrowed with desperate fear.
“Who is ‘she’?” I demanded, my voice shaking. “And what transfer?”
He didn’t answer, just kept trying to snatch the phone. “It’s nothing! Just a stupid prank, give it back!” he insisted, but his frantic attempts spoke louder than his words.
I managed to keep the phone out of his reach for a moment longer, scrolling quickly through the messages. There weren’t many, mostly coded language and confirmations, all from the same number listed as ‘Mom’. But one message, sent just yesterday, confirmed my chilling suspicion: “Meeting point is the usual corner tonight. Her savings account details are secured.”
The blurry street corner on the lock screen flashed in my mind. *Her* savings account. It could only be my mother’s. My boyfriend, the man I shared my life with, was planning to steal from my mother.
He finally wrenched the phone from my grip, but it was too late. I had seen enough. The cheap plastic felt like a bomb in his hand now, not just a hidden secret, but proof of profound betrayal.
“Get out,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet, the initial shock giving way to a cold fury.
He stopped, the phone clutched in his fist, his chest heaving. “Wait, I can explain—”
“There’s nothing to explain,” I cut him off. “You were planning to rob my mother. Using a hidden phone and my own mother’s number to coordinate? Get out.”
He stammered, attempting weak excuses about debts and desperation, but the image of the message, the lock screen, his panicked face, solidified into an undeniable truth. I didn’t need to hear more.
“Now,” I repeated, pointing towards the door, my hand still trembling slightly from adrenaline and shock. “Before I call the police. And my mother.”
He stood there for a long moment, defeated, the cheap phone a heavy weight in his hand. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving the old sofa, the lost earring forgotten, and the wreckage of our relationship behind him. The silence that filled the room was deafening after his hurried footsteps faded away.