He Fell in Love with Me Too Late

Seth Scott hadn’t come home in three days.

There wasn’t even a single message from him.

Tonight was cold; the rain outside tapped steadily against the window, and I curled up under the blanket, shivering.

My hands and feet were freezing, but my face was burning—I had a fever.

Clutching my phone, I read through each message I had sent him.

"Seth, are you coming home today?"

"Seth, where have you gone?"

"Seth, why won’t you answer me?"

"I’m really worried about you."

I scrolled through our previous conversations.

He had never gone this long without replying to me.

Just as my eyes were stinging and my head felt dizzy, my phone buzzed.

I quickly opened my eyes, but it wasn’t Seth.

A red "1" appeared next to the contacts.

I tapped to check and saw a friend request from a girl’s profile picture.

Feeling uneasy, I clicked on it.

Her feed wrote, "Seth is with me."

My mind went blank, panic surged through my chest.

I didn't want to add a stranger, and I wanted to trust Seth, but before I knew it, I clicked "accept."

The moment I accepted, intending to ask who she was, her response came instantly.

She sent a photo. I opened it.

There he was—Seth Scott, who had been missing for three days, lying peacefully with his eyes closed, shirtless on what was unmistakably a girl’s bed.

I stared at the picture in disbelief, zooming in on every detail, searching desperately for something, anything, to prove it wasn’t him.

But I found nothing.

It was him.

Frantically, I started messaging her, demanding to know who she was and why Seth was with her. But my messages were like stones thrown into the sea—no response, only silence.

That night, I sat on my bed, staring into space until dawn.

When the first light of morning crept in, I finally drifted off.

My head throbbed, my lips were dry and cracked, and I slept fitfully.

I dreamt a nightmare where I saw Seth holding a woman in his arms.

She leaned into him, looking playful and sweet, while he gazed down at her with a smile filled with warmth.

His eyes were so tender.

I stood before them, wild with desperation, trying to pull them apart, but Seth shoved me away without a hint of pity.

I stumbled to the ground, and he looked at me with utter disdain, his voice cold as ice.

“You’re so shameless,” he said.

I jolted awake, the pain still gripping my chest. I reached up to touch my face and felt wetness on my fingers.

I had been crying, but Seth would no longer be there to comfort me.

Ding.

Another message notification on my messenger.

I opened it—it was her again.

This time, she sent more photos, not just one.

I clicked on each, torturing myself with every image.

I saw Seth in a disheveled shirt, leaning against the girl.

She was beautiful, her eyes sparkling like crescent moons as she smiled at the camera.

I saw another photo of the girl taking a picture in front of a mirror, with Seth standing beside her, his arm possessively wrapped around her waist.

Then there was another: Seth wearing an apron, focused and intent, washing vegetables in the sink.

He was cooking for her, even though he had once promised that he would only ever cook for me.

I lost control, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I sent her message after message, my rage and bitterness pouring out uncontrollably.

"Who are you, really?"

"He's my husband! Do you even realize you’re the other woman here?"

"Where are you two right now? Why isn't he coming back?"

"You're a horrible person, stealing someone else's husband!"