I FOUND A SECOND PHONE HIDDEN UNDER BRIAN’S SIDE OF THE BED
My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped it onto the dusty floorboards beneath the bed. It was tucked under the mattress, shoved back deep, and felt surprisingly warm against my palm like it had just been put there moments ago. I stared at the screen, the bright light blinding me for a second in the dim room, my heart starting to pound sickeningly in my ears.
Brian walked in just then, wiping grease off his hands from working on the old truck in the driveway, completely oblivious. His smile froze instantly when he saw what I was holding, the strong, greasy smell of motor oil suddenly making me feel absolutely nauseous and dizzy. “What the hell is *that*?” he snapped, stepping towards me quickly, his eyes narrowed and suddenly cold.
I couldn’t speak, just scrolled past message after message filled with sickeningly sweet late-night plans and whispered promises I thought belonged only to me. My finger trembled as a picture popped up on the screen – her face, smiling right into the camera, a very familiar silver chain necklace around her neck. It was the exact one I’d scrimped and saved for months to buy him, the one I’d given him for his birthday last year, marked with his initials on the back.
He lunged forward, trying to snatch the phone out of my grasp, but I managed to pull it away, stumbling back into the wall behind me. “It’s not what you think, please, just let me explain,” he mumbled quickly, his face pale and desperate, but his eyes couldn’t meet mine at all. The cheap plastic phone case felt slippery in my sweaty, trembling hand.
Then the phone screen lit up with an incoming call from Mom’s number.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*The phone continued its insistent ring, ‘Mom’ flashing on the screen, a cruel, impossible twist. Brian flinched violently, his pale face turning even more ashen. “Don’t answer that!” he practically yelled, lunging again, not for the phone this time, but towards me, reaching for my arm as if to physically stop me from seeing more.
I batted his hand away, my voice finally finding its register, though it was shaky and raw. “Mom? Brian, why is *she* calling from Mom’s number?” The accusation hung heavy in the air, laced with a dawning horror. His eyes darted away, unable to hold my gaze. The jig was spectacularly up.
“It’s… it’s not Mom,” he stammered, running a hand through his greasy hair, avoiding my eyes. “I… I saved it like that. Just so you wouldn’t… you wouldn’t see.” He admitted it, the pathetic confession a tiny pinprick compared to the gaping wound tearing through my chest. He saved her number as ‘Mom’. He had planned this deception down to the contact name. The woman wearing my gift was calling him under the guise of his mother.
I scrolled through the messages again, the sick sweetness now curdling into pure venom. They talked about weekends away, meeting *his* friends, even mention of holiday plans coming up. My holiday plans. My future, replaced by hers. And there, clear as day in the photo, the necklace. My gift, a symbol of our love, now around *her* neck as they planned their life together.
The phone screen went dark as the call ended, but the silence that followed was deafening. My breath hitched in my throat, tears blurring my vision. “Get out,” I whispered, the words barely audible, my voice thick with unshed tears and a rising fury.
Brian froze, his head snapping up, the desperation in his eyes replaced by a flicker of cold panic. “What? No, wait, let’s talk about this, please. It’s not what you think, not all of it…”
“Get. Out,” I repeated, louder this time, pointing towards the door, the phone still clutched like a weapon in my hand. “Take your phone, take your grease, take your lies. And get out.”
He stood there for a long moment, looking lost and utterly defeated, perhaps finally realizing the depth of what he’d destroyed with his casual cruelty. Then, slowly, his shoulders slumped. He turned and walked towards the door, not looking back.
I stood alone in the room, the dusty floorboards cold beneath my feet, the smell of motor oil slowly fading. The phone lay on the bed, its screen dark, a silent witness to the end of everything I thought I had. The ache in my chest was physical, a heavy, crushing weight, but beneath it, a strange, brittle strength was beginning to form. I hadn’t dropped the phone. I hadn’t broken. I had simply… ended it.