I FOUND MY BEST FRIEND’S PHONE IN MY BOYFRIEND’S GLOVE BOX.
I was digging for his aux cord when my fingers brushed against the cracked purple case — the one with the glittery star she’d glued on last summer. My stomach dropped before my brain could even process it.
“What’s her phone doing here?” I asked, my voice trembling. He froze, the bag of takeout slipping from his hand. The smell of fried rice filled the car, but it made me nauseous. His face went pale, and he started stuttering something about her needing help with her car.
“You think lying makes it better?” I snapped, gripping the phone so tight the edges dug into my palm. He didn’t answer, just stared at the steering wheel like it held all the secrets. My chest felt like it was on fire, and I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Then it hit me — the late-night texts, the sudden “work emergencies,” the way she’d been avoiding me for weeks. I opened her phone, and the lock screen was a selfie of them, smiling like they didn’t have a care in the world.
The doorbell rang just as I was about to scream — it was her, holding a bottle of wine and laughing like nothing was wrong.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*My vision swam. I could barely register the sound of her voice, the casual “Hey, I thought we could finally catch up!” She leaned in for a hug, and I instinctively flinched away. The phone in my hand felt like a lead weight.
“What is this?” I finally choked out, holding the phone out towards her. Her smile faltered, her eyes darting between me and the phone. She didn’t deny it. She didn’t say a word.
My boyfriend, still frozen beside the car, finally found his voice. “It’s not what it looks like,” he mumbled, his gaze fixed on the ground. *Liar,* I thought, the word echoing in my head.
“Get out,” I said to him, the words sharp and precise. He flinched, but didn’t move. “Now.”
He looked at me, then at her, then back at me. He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “Just go.”
He turned and walked away, shoulders slumped, leaving the spilled takeout to congeal on the pavement. The crunch of his footsteps on the gravel was the only sound for a moment. Then, the silence was broken by her forced laugh.
“Okay, so… this is awkward,” she said, attempting a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Look, I…”
“Don’t,” I interrupted, my voice dangerously low. “Don’t even try to explain. We’re done. Both of you.”
The wine bottle slipped from her grasp, shattering on the concrete. She stared at the broken glass, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. I felt a pang of something – pity, perhaps, or maybe just the lingering ache of betrayal. But it was quickly overwhelmed by a cold, hard anger.
“I don’t understand…” she stammered, her voice cracking.
“You don’t understand?” I repeated, my voice rising. “You don’t understand how you could betray me like this? After everything? After all these years?”
I turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, amidst the shards of glass and the remnants of our ruined friendship. I didn’t look back. As I walked, the fiery pain in my chest began to cool, replaced by a weary sense of closure. It hurt, deeply, to lose two people who had been so central to my life. But I knew I’d be okay. I’d pick up the pieces, and I would find the strength to move on.
The next day, I changed my locks, blocked them both on everything, and started making plans to move out. The takeout had already been cleaned up by the local crows, but the scent of betrayal still lingered in the air. I knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of hope. I’d lost a boyfriend and a best friend, but I still had myself. And that, I realized, was more than enough.