I went to check on my lover, fearing that he was too sick to contact me back. But what I discovered des:troy:ed my trust and left my life whirling. Days later, the person I never expected showed up at my door, and we began something that would change my life forever.
My lover, Jace, had not visited in days, claiming to be weary, but something about his explanations bothered me.
I finally gave up and called his number.
“Sorry I didn’t text you. I just fell asleep. I’m not feeling great—might have a fever or something.”
He coughed harshly into the phone, making me grimace. “Look, I’ll text you later,” he muttered, his words rushed.
If Jace was truly sick, I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. I would take care of him, whether he wanted it or not. That is what girlfriends do, correct?
Inside, I picked up some fresh fruit, tea, and a package of throat lozenges, imagining how grateful Jace would be when I arrived.
When the doors slid open, my heart stopped. There he was—Jace—with his arms around a lady I did not recognize.
“Looks like you’re feeling better,” I said, my voice louder than I intended, cutting through the quiet hallway.
He stepped toward me, his hand stretching out as if it might make everything better. “I can explain.”
I tossed the grocery bag at him, spreading the fruit across the floor.
He did not call after me or try to stop me, which made me happy. He was not worth it. Not anymore.
A few days had passed since I saw Jace in the elevator with another woman. He hadn’t called, texted, or even sent a pitiful apology.
So I texted him, my fingers quivering from anger. After a few minutes, he responded.
@Jace:
Let’s meet tonight at 6 p.m., at our café.
Each time the door opened, I looked up, expecting to see him. But Jace didn’t appear.
At 8 p.m., I was furious. Finally, my phone vibrated.
@Jace:
I can’t come. I can’t stand seeing you so sad like this.
When I finally got home, the fury still burned in my chest.
Then, as I turned the corner, I froze. Standing outside my apartment was her. The woman from the elevator. She looked nervous like she’d been waiting for me.
“I want to talk to you,” she said, her tone calm but uneasy. “I feel like I owe you… more than just a conversation.”
I turned back to her, sighing deeply. “Fine. Come in,”
“What’s your name, anyway?”
“Ashley,” she said softly, her eyes darting to the floor.
Ashley sat at the table, folding her hands nervously. “You didn’t know about me,” she began. “But I knew you existed. Jace told me he had a girlfriend, but he said you were awful to him. He claimed you ignored him, flirted with other men, made him feel worthless.”
“Looks like the jerk fooled both of us,”
Ashley grinned a wicked, mischievous grin. “Re:ven:ge,” she said simply. “You know how much of a homophobe Jace is?”
Ashley and I wasted no time putting our plans into action. We established numerous profiles for Jace on various dating sites, meticulously curating his “interests” and posting photographs from his social media.
Though we couldn’t count the actual number of calls, Jace’s texts told us everything we needed to know. “Who are these people?” “Why won’t my phone stop ringing?” His desperation drove us to keep going.
Our phones were constantly buzzing with Jace’s texts and calls. “You have to stop this,” he wrote. “Please, I’m begging you!”
@Me:
We can stop, but there’s one condition.
@Jace:
I’ll do anything. Just stop.
I sent him the money—enough for a two-week holiday in Spain.
Ashley and I banned Jace’s phone number after sending him that final text message. There was nothing left to say. The moment felt strangely satisfying, like closing the chapter on a dreadful book I’d been stuck with for far too long.
