"Alright, sweetheart."
He had no idea the scent of perfume clinging to him made me want to vomit.
As Ethan entered the bathroom, my eyes drifted to his phone on the coffee table. Almost involuntarily, I picked it up. The password was still my birthday.
It was my first time checking his phone. As expected, it was spotless—too spotless, in fact, to be believable.
When I tapped into the photographer’s chat window, it was completely empty. That alone was enough of an answer.
But when I noticed a group chat labeled “Brother,” curiosity got the better of me. The most recent message read:
"Man, you’re impressive!"
I opened it.
The chat history made my whole body tremble.
"Ethan, aren’t you afraid your wife will find out about this?"
"Not at all. She trusts me completely. She never checks my phone. And even if she did, she’d find nothing. Everything else is on my other phone."
So that was it. No wonder this phone contained nothing but work.
But the next part of their conversation drew me in completely.
"I just don’t get it. Why does your wife trust you so much?"
Ethan replied with a string of smug emojis.
"Women are emotional creatures. They only believe what they want to believe. All I have to do is convince her I’m madly in love with her."
He had attached a photo of himself standing outside my rented apartment, holding a strawberry shortcake and a bouquet of flowers.
That image was seared into my memory.
It was when I had just started working, while Ethan had gotten into a graduate program in Chicago. That was the beginning of our three-year long-distance relationship, separated by thousands of miles.
Back then, stepping into society for the first time had hit me harder than I expected. What I’d learned at school and what was required at work felt worlds apart.
It was Valentine’s Day. My roommates all went out with their boyfriends, while I was stuck working overtime, revising proposals.
Loneliness, longing, and frustration overwhelmed me. I called Ethan, sobbing into the phone.
"Ethan, I’m not asking for anything. I just feel so miserable that you’re not here. School and work are so different, and I miss you so much. I know it sounds childish, but I can’t help it."
On the other end, Ethan soothed me, his voice full of concern. I thought it would be enough just to vent. But the very next morning, he appeared in person—cake in one hand, flowers in the other.