At dawn, before my parents had woken up, I went out for a jog to clear my head. When I returned and finished a light breakfast with them, I excused myself and went back to my room, intending to get a few more hours of sleep.
I had just drifted off when someone shook me awake.
"Maya, is this what you meant by going out to cool off? Eight men in one night—damn it! You fucking slut!"
That voice. That tone. My eyes snapped open. Hearing those exact words again, spoken in the same raw fury, felt like crashing into a wall.
"Wha... what do you mean?" I managed to say. My voice trembled without my realizing it.
Sean stood at the foot of my bed, his face contorted with rage. This wasn't the gentle, patient man I had married. This was a storm—cold and merciless.
"You're seriously asking me what I mean? Look at this!" he shouted, his voice shaking. He threw his phone onto the bed. "Your video is all over the internet—I can't even show my face to anyone now!"
I reached for the phone with shaking fingers. The screen lit up.
It was the same video. My flushed face. My body moving to music in a hotel room surrounded by men.
My skin instantly turned cold, the blood draining from my limbs as a familiar sense of dread swallowed me whole. The nightmare had repeated itself.
Beneath the video, the comments were just as vicious as I remembered.
[Whose daughter is this? Whose wife? If she were mine, I'd strangle her.]
[What a whore. Those men clearly aren't picky.]
[Ugh, look at that tongue. I'd rather have her lick a toilet—wait, no, that'd dirty the toilet.]
[I heard her parents are teachers? Unbelievable. Don't let your kids near them—who knows what they teach at home.]
My full name. Our home address. My parents' workplace. All laid bare in the comments section like some public bulletin board. The doxing was happening again and everything was unraveling.
Then, came the private messages.
[How much to sleep with you?]
[Didn't think you were this wild. Wanna meet next time?]
[Babe, stairwell or copy room—your pick.]
[I've got a buck and ten bros. What do you say?]
Each line was filthier than the last. I felt my stomach turn as nausea rose in my throat. My hands shook as I gripped the edge of the blanket, fighting the urge to scream.
None of it made sense.
I had been at home. I hadn't left my parents' apartment since yesterday. How could this happen again?