But as I opened the box, my heart raced. Scribbled on the inside lid with a black Sharpie was a chilling message: “He is not who you think. Check your door camera.”
The pizza lost its appeal as a wave of dread overtook me. My hands shook as I put the box down, the once cozy apartment now overshadowed by an ominous quiet. What was I about to discover on that camera?
Fumbling with the tablet that controlled our door camera, I felt each second stretch into forever as I opened the app. Anxiety coursed through me as I reviewed the camera footage, my breath catching with each swipe through the recorded days.
And then, I saw it.
There was Jake, greeting a woman at our doorstep—not just any woman, but one who laughed as she handed him a bottle of wine. My heart sank. I scrolled further; another day, another woman, this one with a stack of movies.
It appeared that whenever I was absent, Jake had visitors. Different women, each visit clearly recorded by the very camera he installed for our “security.”
I was paralyzed, the tablet slipping from my hands onto my lap. How could he? When did our shared life become this facade? Tears clouded my vision as each video clip felt like a betrayal, puncturing the trust and love I had fostered—was it all one-sided?
With every shared laugh and bottle of wine, the apartment seemed to constrict around me, the walls echoing the deceit. I felt sick, a heavy realization settling in. This wasn’t a simple error or a misunderstanding; it was a deliberate, repeated betrayal.
Fury mixed with my grief, fueling the tears that streamed down my face. I needed to confront him, to demand explanations. But first, I had to collect myself, to piece together my shattered dignity. I couldn’t let him see my devastation.
I steeled myself for the confrontation. The illusion of our love had evaporated, replaced by stark indignation. Jake owed me some serious explanations, and I was determined to get them.
When Jake came back, the apartment was suffused with tense silence. He greeted me with his usual carefree smile, unaware of the tempest within me.
“Hey, Em. Missed you,” he said, as he hung up his coat.
I didn’t return the smile. “We need to talk,” I said firmly.
Jake’s smile wavered. “What’s wrong?”
I thrust the tablet towards him, pausing on an image of him with one of the women. “Care to explain this?”
He glanced at the screen, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Emily, you’re blowing this out of proportion. They’re just friends.”
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