I went to check on my boyfriend, worried he was too sick to even text me back. But what I found shattered my trust and sent my world spinning. Days later, the last person I ever expected showed up at my door, and together, we started something that changed my life forever.

One crisp autumn day, I sat alone in my small, cozy apartment, the sunlight streaming weakly through the windows.

The orange and red leaves outside seemed to mock my restlessness as I stared at my phone, waiting for my boyfriend, Jace, to finally show up.

He hadn’t visited in days, claiming he was just tired, but something about his excuses didn’t sit right with me.

I fiddled with the hem of my sweater, tapping my foot anxiously against the hardwood floor. Finally, I gave up and dialed his number. The phone rang a few times before he answered.

“Hello?” Jace answered, his voice low and groggy, like he’d just woken up.

“Are you sleeping?” I asked, trying to hide the edge in my voice.

“Yeah,” he said, pausing for a second. “Sorry I didn’t text you. I just fell asleep. I’m not feeling great—might have a fever or something.”

“Oh…” I said softly, not sure what else to say.

He coughed hard into the phone, making me wince. “Look, I’ll text you later,” he muttered, his words rushed.

“Feel bet—” I started, but the line went dead before I could finish.

Frustration bubbled up as I tapped my fingers on the table, my thoughts racing. If Jace was really sick, I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing. I’d take care of him, whether he liked it or not. That’s what girlfriends do, right?

Grabbing my coat, I headed out into the crisp autumn air, determined. The walk to the store was brisk, the kind that makes your cheeks tingle.

Inside, I picked up fresh fruit, tea, and a box of throat lozenges, imagining how grateful Jace would be when I showed up.

Back at his building, I pressed the elevator button, adjusting the heavy bag on my arm. Usually, I took the stairs, but not today.

The elevator hummed softly as it descended, and I distracted myself by humming along to a tune stuck in my head.

When the doors slid open, my heart stopped. There he was—Jace—with his arms around a woman I didn’t recognize.

Her face pressed against his chest, and they were so close it made my stomach churn. This wasn’t just a hug. It was something more.

“Looks like you’re feeling better,” I said, my voice louder than I intended, cutting through the quiet hallway.

Jace’s head whipped toward me, his face draining of color. “Kate…” he stammered, his arms falling away from the woman. He stepped toward me, his hand reaching out like that would somehow fix things. “I can explain.”

His mouth opened, but I held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. Just don’t. If you take one more step or say one more word, I swear I’ll make you regret it.” I hurled the bag of groceries at him, the fruit spilling across the floor.

Without waiting for his reaction, I turned and walked away, my heart pounding with anger and disgust.

He didn’t call after me, didn’t try to stop me, and for that, I was glad. He wasn’t worth it. Not anymore.

A few days had dragged by since I’d caught Jace in the elevator with another woman. He hadn’t bothered to call, text, or even send a pathetic apology.

Not even a simple “I’m sorry, I’m a jerk, and I don’t deserve you.” Was that too much to ask?

It gnawed at me, this unfinished business. I couldn’t move on, couldn’t let go, because it felt like he was still lurking in my life, like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

I decided I needed closure, even if it meant facing him. So, I texted him, my fingers trembling with anger. After a few minutes, he replied.

@Jace:

Let’s meet tonight at 6 p.m., at our café.

Our café. The place where we had our first date. The nerve. Still, I agreed.

At 6 p.m., I sat in the corner booth, the one we always chose. The warm smell of coffee and pastries surrounded me, but it brought no comfort.

Every time the door opened, I glanced up, expecting to see him. But Jace didn’t show.

By 7 p.m., I was tapping my foot under the table, staring at the cold tea I hadn’t touched. By 8 p.m., I was furious. Finally, my phone buzzed.

@Jace:

I can’t come. I can’t stand seeing you so sad like this.

I stared at the screen, stunned by his cowardice. What did that even mean? He couldn’t stand seeing me?

He was the one who had cheated, yet he was acting like the victim. My anger boiled over.

When I finally got home, the fury still burned in my chest. I stomped up the stairs, muttering under my breath.

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.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” I shouted, my voice echoing in the hallway. I couldn’t believe she had the nerve to show up.

“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 folded my arms tightly, glaring at her. “You’re a few hours late,” I snapped. “I don’t want anything to do with that jerk. You can have him.” Turning away, I fumbled with my keys, determined to shut this conversation down.

“That’s the thing—I don’t want him either,” she said, her voice firmer this time. It stopped me cold. “I finally realized what he’s really like, and I wanted to talk to someone who understands.”