I was worried about my boyfriend, thinking he might be too ill to even send me a text. But what I uncovered shattered my faith and turned my world upside down. A few days later, the last person I ever expected showed up at my door, and together, we embarked on something that changed everything for me.
It was a crisp autumn afternoon, and I was sitting alone in my tiny, warm apartment. Weak sunlight filtered through the window, casting a soft glow on the room.
The vibrant orange and red leaves outside seemed to mock my restless mood as I stared at my phone, willing Jace, my boyfriend, to respond.
He hadn’t visited in days, claiming exhaustion, but something about his excuses didn’t sit right with me.
Fidgeting with the hem of my sweater, I tapped my foot impatiently on the hardwood floor. Unable to take it any longer, I dialed his number. The line rang a few times before he picked up.
“Hello?” Jace’s voice was hoarse, groggy, like he’d just woken up.
“Were you sleeping?” I asked, trying to keep my tone calm.
“Yeah,” he replied after a pause. “Sorry for not texting you. I just dozed off. I think I’m coming down with something—maybe a fever.”
“Oh,” I said softly, unsure how to respond.
He coughed loudly into the phone, making me flinch. “Listen, I’ll message you later,” he muttered hurriedly.
“Feel bet—” I started, but the line went dead before I could finish.
Frustration built as I stared at the phone. If Jace was truly sick, I couldn’t just sit idly by. I’d go check on him. That’s what a good girlfriend does, right?
Grabbing my coat, I headed out into the crisp air, resolved. The walk to the store was brisk, the kind that stings your cheeks.
I picked up some fresh fruit, tea, and throat lozenges, picturing his gratitude when I arrived.
At his building, I opted for the elevator instead of the stairs, weighed down by the bag in my arms.
The soft hum of the elevator calmed me slightly, and I found myself humming a random tune. But when the doors slid open, I froze.
There was Jace, with his arms wrapped tightly around another woman. Her face was pressed into his chest, and they stood so close it made my stomach churn. This wasn’t just a friendly hug—it was something more.
“Looks like you’re feeling better,” I said sharply, my voice cutting through the quiet hallway.
Jace turned abruptly, his face going pale. “Kate…” he stammered, letting go of the woman. He stepped toward me, hand outstretched, as if that could erase what I’d just seen. “I can explain.”
I raised a hand to stop him. “Don’t. Say one more word or take another step, and I swear you’ll regret it.” I threw the bag of groceries at him, the contents scattering across the floor.
Without waiting for his reaction, I turned and walked away, my heart pounding with anger and betrayal. He didn’t call after me, didn’t try to stop me, and I was relieved. He wasn’t worth it.
Days passed since I’d caught Jace with the other woman. He hadn’t called, texted, or even tried to apologize. Not even a pathetic “Sorry, I’m a jerk.” Was that too much to ask?
It gnawed at me, this unfinished business. I couldn’t let go. I needed closure. So, I texted him. My fingers shook as I typed, and when he finally replied, I felt my anger spike.
@Jace:
Let’s meet tonight at 6 p.m., at our café.
Our café—the place where we’d had our first date. The audacity. Still, I agreed.
By 6 p.m., I was at the usual corner booth, surrounded by the comforting smell of coffee and pastries. But comfort eluded me.
Every time the door opened, I looked up, expecting to see him. By 7 p.m., I was fuming. By 8 p.m., I was ready to explode. Finally, my phone buzzed.
@Jace:
I can’t come. I can’t bear to see you like this.
I stared at the screen in disbelief. He was the one who cheated, yet he was playing the victim? My anger boiled over.
When I got home, the fury still burned in my chest. As I rounded the corner to my apartment, I stopped in my tracks.
Standing by my door was her—the woman from the elevator. She looked uneasy, like she’d been waiting for me.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped, my voice echoing in the hallway.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, her tone calm but hesitant. “I owe you more than just an explanation.”
I crossed my arms. “You’re wasting your time. You can have him,” I said bitterly, fumbling with my keys.
“That’s the thing—I don’t want him,” she said firmly, stopping me. “I see now who he really is. I thought you deserved to know.”
I hesitated, curiosity tugging at me. With a sigh, I stepped aside. “Fine. Come in.”
As she walked in, I asked, “What’s your name?”
“Ashley,” she said softly.
“Kate,” I replied curtly.
In the kitchen, I grabbed a bottle of wine. “Tea won’t cut it for this,” I said, setting down two glasses.
Ashley sat, her hands folded. “Jace told me about you,” she began. “But he painted you as terrible. He said you ignored him, flirted with other guys, made him feel worthless.”
“That’s exactly what he did to me!” I exploded.
“I know now. He fooled us both,” she admitted. “But I’m not here to cry over him. I want revenge.”
Her suggestion caught me off guard, but as we started brainstorming, it all clicked. And that’s how it began.
We set up fake profiles, scheduled meetups at his place, and even plastered his face on billboards. Seeing his panic texts was priceless.
When it was all over, we blocked his number and booked a trip to Spain to celebrate. On the beach, sipping sangria with Ashley, I realized I’d lost a boyfriend but gained an incredible friend.
Revenge had never tasted sweeter.