I FOUND A LETTER IN HIS GLOVEBOX ADDRESSED TO HIS EX
He turned to me, his face pale, as I held up the envelope with her name scrawled across the front. “What’s this?” I demanded, my voice cracking under the weight of the words. The car was too hot, the leather seats sticking to my skin, and the silence that followed felt like a third person in the room.
“It’s nothing,” he said, reaching for the letter, but I jerked it out of his grasp. His hands were shaking, and I could smell the faint sourness of sweat on him. “You’re lying,” I whispered, tears already blurring my vision. “If it’s nothing, why is it here?”
I tore it open before he could stop me. The paper felt heavy, like it held more than just ink. “Dear Jess,” it began, and my heart sank. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night.” My stomach turned as I kept reading, each word carving a deeper hole in my chest.
He grabbed my wrist, his fingers digging in too hard. “Stop,” he pleaded, but it was too late. I’d already seen the date — yesterday. And then, as I shoved the letter back at him, a text notification lit up his phone.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*I wrenched my arm free, the sting of his grip a phantom pain compared to the ache in my soul. I barely registered the text notification – I was drowning in the reality of the letter. He mumbled something, but the words were lost in the ringing in my ears. I backed away, needing space to breathe, to understand.
The text lit up the screen again. I couldn’t help myself, my eyes darting towards it. It was from Jess. “Still thinking about you too,” the message read, followed by a heart emoji. My vision swam. I felt a cold, hard knot form in my stomach.
He lunged for his phone, his face contorted in panic. “It’s not what it looks like,” he stammered, his voice raw with desperation. “I… I just… it was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I echoed, the word a venomous whisper. “A mistake to write a love letter? A mistake to be thinking of her last night? A mistake to be texting her *now*?”
He flinched, defeated. The fight seemed to drain out of him, leaving him a crumpled shell. He slumped back against the seat, his gaze fixed on the floor. The silence returned, heavier than before, pregnant with unspoken truths and the death of something precious.
I finally found my voice, my voice shaking but resolute. “I’m leaving,” I said, the words ripping through the suffocating air. I reached for the door handle, my hand trembling.
He didn’t try to stop me. He just sat there, a picture of regret.
As I stepped out of the car, the heat hit me like a physical blow, but I barely noticed. I walked away, the gravel crunching under my shoes a harsh soundtrack to the crumbling of my world. I never looked back. The pain was unbearable, but the knowledge of the truth was a start of the healing. In the end, I would be alright.