HE LEFT HIS PHONE OPEN AND ONE MESSAGE SAID HER NAME
My fingers trembled holding the phone screen as I read the words again.
The cold, blue light of the screen burned my eyes, but I couldn’t look away from the simple message. “See you there soon,” it read, tucked beneath a name I didn’t recognize at all, Sarah. He’d just left his phone unlocked on the counter after coming home, thinking I wouldn’t look, thinking I wouldn’t care. My stomach did a sickening flip like hitting a pothole.
He walked into the kitchen then, whistling softly until he saw my face. The easy smile melted instantly. “What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching out, but I flinched back instinctively. The smell of stale cigarettes and cheap beer clung heavily to his jacket as he took another step closer.
“Who is Sarah?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, holding the phone out like it was something foul. His eyes darted away, avoiding mine completely. “It’s nothing, okay? Just… a friend,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets, his voice flat. My own voice trembling, **”You think saying ‘just a friend’ fixes this?”**
He met my gaze, but there was a coldness there, a flicker of something I didn’t recognize. “You wouldn’t understand,” he repeated, softer this time, like it was a kindness. That was the moment I knew. I knew everything we built was cracking, felt suddenly flimsy like cheap plywood.
He grabbed his keys and headed fast for the door, but his phone buzzed loudly with her reply.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*The buzzing startled us both. His head whipped back towards the counter, his eyes wide and panicked. He lunged forward, reaching for the phone still clutched in my hand, but I pulled back instinctively, shielding it against my chest. The screen illuminated again with the incoming message, its preview text glowing: “Can’t wait. Same place?”
My breath hitched. Same place? As in, not home? Not with me?
“Give me that!” he snarled, his mask of weary indifference dropping completely. He snatched for my arm, his fingers digging in, but I twisted away, the phone dropping onto the soft mat by the sink with a clatter.
He ignored it, his eyes fixed on me, his face contorted with something ugly – anger mixed with desperation. “You had no right to look!” he yelled, his voice raw.
“No right?” I echoed, my voice rising, shaking. “You leave it lying there after you’ve been out God knows where, smelling like *that*, and a message pops up asking ‘Same place’ from ‘just a friend’?” The stale cigarette smell seemed to intensify, thick and suffocating in the small kitchen.
He ran a hand through his hair, his earlier bluster crumbling. He looked suddenly defeated, smaller. “Okay, fine,” he muttered, not meeting my eyes. “It’s… it’s more than just a friend.”
The confirmation, though expected, hit me like a physical blow. The room spun slightly. “More?” I whispered. “How much more?”
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Look, I messed up. I messed up bad.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and toxic. There was no elaborate lie, no clever deflection. Just a stark admission delivered with the weary resignation of someone caught red-handed. The ‘coldness’ I’d seen earlier wasn’t indifference; it was the chilling certainty of his own deceit, knowing this moment was inevitable.
“Get out,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion now, replaced by a cold, hard resolve.
He looked up, startled. “What? No, wait, let’s talk about this—”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I interrupted, stepping around him and walking towards the front door, opening it wide into the cool night air. “You made your choice. Now get out.”
He stood frozen for a moment, then his shoulders slumped. Without another word, he turned, picked his keys and phone from the counter, and walked past me, the smell of his betrayal lingering even after the door clicked shut behind him.
I stood by the open door, the night air washing over me, chilling my skin but clearing my head. The silence of the apartment was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of city traffic. It hurt, a deep, tearing ache in my chest, but beneath the pain was a strange sense of clarity. The flimsy structure had finally collapsed, and I was standing in the ruins, free from the pretense.